jakevwebber

[jakevwebber]

hi hi js wanna say I reread your Johnnie fic n I think you should make more on him 😭🙏

honestly i only wrote for johnnie because nobody else really wrote for him i didn’t really enjoy doing it so i probably wont write for him again sorry , but thank you ❤️

[jakevwebber]

helloo I was js wondering if you'd would consider writing for sombr or flamingo? I js think u have great writing and I think you could make good stories for them.

thank you !! i haven’t watched flamingo in a while and don’t really know sombr well but i’ll work on something thank you for the request 🙏🏼

[jakevwebber]

For A Good Time Call! || Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Word Count: 14.6k

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Phone Sex Hotline Operator!Reader

Warnings: SMUT (phone sex, m & f masturbation (including pillow humping & sex toys), f!receiving oral sex, p in v sex), language, idiots in love, mutual pining, porn WITH plot

Summary: In the Summer of 1985, Steve's social standing is at an all time low. In an act of sheer, pathetic desperation, he calls a phone sex hotline. Little does he know, his dream girl from the hotline is just an escalator away.

Steve Harrington wasn’t the kind of guy who did this. He repeated it in his head as he scribbled down the phone number— fed straight to him from a local late-night advertisement. For a good time call!

It didn’t take a genius to figure out what that meant. And he wasn’t exactly able to ignore the way his dick twitched in his boxers as the commercial showed pretty girls twirling phone lines around manicured fingers, pretty smiles on their faces, eyes sultry and staring right through him. 

Plus, he wasn’t actually going to call. He was just… keeping the number for his records. He’d just put it in his Rolodex and forget about it. 

A week later, and he decidedly hadn’t forgotten about it. In fact, with the house empty and playboys not cutting it, it’s all he could think about. 

For a good time call. He wanted to have a good time. It had been a while since he had a good time— his stupid Scoops Ahoy uniform wasn’t exactly bolstering his natural charm. Robin could say what she wanted, but he was charming and fun and everything people usually want in a boyfriend. He was just… going through a rough patch. 

He retrieved his Rolodex and hurriedly flipped through, trying to remember where he’d hidden the number. Definitely not around his boss. And not around Nancy either. Tucked between Tommy and a past hookup, he found it. 

He set up his pillows behind his back and got comfortable before dialing the number with uncharacteristically sweaty hands. He was cooler than this was all making him seem. He was the playboy of Hawkins High— of Hawkins in general. Phone sex was nothing. 

As he dialed the number, he prepared to turn on his charm. Instead, he was led to a generic call-center script, which, after being carefully followed based on his wants and desires, took him to billing. 

“It’s a flat rate of twenty for your first ten minutes. If you finish before then, it’s still twenty, alright?”

He swallowed hard. “Okay.”

“After that, it’s fifty cents per minute. An hour session will run you about $55.” Oh. It certainly wasn’t cheap. He’d spent less on dates before. “Is that alright with you?”

“Yeah,” he said after a brief pause, his mind taking a while to catch up. “Do you need my credit card?”

By the time billing was over, his anticipation had tangled his stomach into knots. He glanced at the clock, wondering if those ten minutes would fly past him as fast as he thought they would. The line trilled as he waited to be connected to his partner for the night. Jenny. Like the song.

That song was gross, anyway. But how could he say anything about it now?

The ringing stopped, and he could hear the crackle of a quiet line on the other side, the rustle of movement. Did he need to say hi first? Was trying to start a conversation weird?

“Hi,” he said, and he wondered how he could make one word sound so utterly stupid. “Jenny, right?”

“Mhmm,” you hummed. He could picture you so clearly, despite knowing nothing— one of those pretty girls in the commercials, laying on your belly on a frilly pink bed, fingernails and toenails painted a shiny red, twirling the phone cord around your finger. “What should I call you?”

He swallowed. “Do people usually give you fake names?”

“Sometimes,” you replied. “It’s not about what other people do, baby. It’s about what you want. Do you want me to call you by a fake name?”

He wrinkled his nose. What was the worst thing that could come from a stranger knowing his first name? “No, that sounds awful. No offense.” You laughed, and he felt himself relax. “I’m Steve H—“ He cleared his throat. “Just Steve.”

“Well, I’m glad that I get to talk to you tonight Steve,” you said, and just the sultry timbre of your voice made his stomach do flips. “I’m guessing this is your first time?”

He furrowed his brows. “I’m not a virgin.”

“No, baby. I mean it seems like it’s your first time calling a hotline like this.” His face burned hot as he fumbled his way through answering, oh, yeah, I guess that’s right. “So, sweetheart, why don’t you tell me what you want?”

“Uh…” he paused, trying to think of a more polite way of saying to cum while a pretty girl talks to me. “I guess I’ve just been lonely.”

“Poor baby,” you said, and he was shocked that you didn’t have even a hint of amusement or mirth when you said it. “You want me to take care of you? Help you forget?”

His breath caught in his throat, stealing his response. His dick twitched, already half-hard and sensitive. All he could manage was a tiny whimper of, “Mhmm.”

“What do you usually think about when you’re touching yourself?” You asked, and the lack of shame in your voice made heat flare in his cheeks. He’d had some shameless hookups, but most of the girls he slept with didn’t like to talk about it. “Like, what’s your favorite fantasy, Steve?”

It was embarrassing. Mortifying, actually. It was basically the plot of a bad porno or a letter to Penthouse. 

Usually, it started by his pool. And a girl was there, wearing a cute, but ultimately tiny, bikini. The girl didn’t really matter. Well, she did, but it wasn’t about who she was. She could have been a Playmate of the Month, or a movie star, or a girl he was crushing on and wanted to ask out. All that mattered for the sake of the fantasy, was that she was pretty, had nice tits, and wanted him. 

“Does that make me awful?” He asked, pausing mid-description to gauge your perception of him. You laughed on the other end of the line. 

“God, Steve,” you said with thinly veiled amusement. “You think I give a personality and backstory to all of the people I fantasize about fucking?”

It made him feel a little better.

Anyways, there was something about summertime that just made sense to him. Skin all but steaming in the heat, the oiled up glow that came from sweaty skin. Wearing as few clothes as possible so you didn’t overheat. 

You gave a nervous laugh— breathy and sweet— on the other end of the line. “You’re really good at setting the scene, Steve.” He liked to be specific. He wanted to think about tiny details like the salty taste of skin or hair that smelled like chlorine and salt. “What’s next?”

She always started by laying on her stomach, the ties of her bikini undone so she didn’t get unsightly tan lines. She would peer at him over her shoulder with wide, innocent eyes while she asked if he could apply a bit more sunscreen on her back where she couldn’t reach. 

So he straddled her thighs, her skin burning up under his hands as he rubbed in the freezing cold sunscreen. Goosebumps would break out along her arms, and she’d have to arch away from the sensation, pushing her ass against him. 

“Are you hard already?” You asked, and his cheeks burned hot. 

“Like…” He glanced at his lap, where his cock was already straining against the fabric of his boxers. “In the fantasy or right now?”

“Is the answer the same for both?”

He let out a shaky breath. “Yeah.”

“Keep going.”

He was already impatient. Skipped right to the kissing and cut out the context and actions that led to it. Did it matter? The bikini top fell onto the ground, and she was on top of him, tits pressed into his sun-warmed chest, tongue licking into his mouth. 

God, he fucking loved kissing. He’d missed it so much since he’d graduated and his social clout had depleted to fuck all. There had been dates, and messy, slow makeouts in the back of his car since walking the stage, but not one since his first shift at Scoops Ahoy. It was killing him.

She felt so good in his lap— so warm and heavy. He could have stayed like that forever— trapped beneath a pretty girl with her tongue down his throat. But he wanted more— he always wanted more. 

He wanted more then. As he relayed his fantasy to this stranger in painstaking detail, he ached for more. His hand was flat on his tummy, and he shivered as he slipped it beneath the band of his boxers to take his cock into his hand. He groaned, the back of his head knocking against the wall.

“God, you’re cute,” your voice was so pretty. He throbbed in his grip, making him exhale a shuddering breath. “It’s okay, Steve. You can keep touching yourself while you talk to me. I want you to.”

“Are you sure?” He asked, his voice broken by a tiny whimper. “I don’t have to.”

“I’m sure, baby,” you insisted. “What do you do next, hm? I’m on top of you, kissing you nice and slow, grinding my hips against yours because I just can’t help myself. Tell me what you’re going to do to me.”

“I’d—“ He swallows hard, eyes shut tight. “I’d want to taste you.”

In the fantasy, his hands gripped the back of your thighs, moving you up his body so you were just above his mouth. He was suave and sexy. He’d pull the bow at your hip with his teeth so your swim bottoms fell off like they were nothing. 

And it would feel so comfortable beneath you— so natural for him. He’d just barely have to lean forward to have his mouth on you, already wet so he could taste you on his tongue. He’d moan at your taste— he fucking loved the way pussy tasted, even if he got shit for it in the locker room when he admitted it— and pull you down onto his mouth so he could get impossibly closer. 

It would be messy— a mix of spit and slick on his mouth and chin, making the tip of his nose shine. He’d spend as long as he wanted beneath you, pulling every noise he could from your lips, trapped between your thighs. He wouldn’t stop until you came— once at a minimum, more if he was feeling greedy.

“All this attention on little old me,” you teased. “Would you let me take care of you? I could slip off those swim trunks of yours and make you feel good.”

He had set a steady pace— hand gliding up and down his length as his fantasy continued to evolve. “Yeah,” he managed, but his voice came out strangled and desperate. “You’d put your hand down my shorts and tease me. Your hand would feel so good. Warm and soft. You’d, uh, tell me how big I am, how you wanted to feel me stretch your uh— your—.”

“My what, baby?” Your voice dripped with amusement and mirth. “My pussy?”

“Fuck.” It came out with an exhale, his heart hammering.

“You like it when girls say dirty things to you, Steve?” You asked, and he could hear your smirk. “You want me to beg for your cock so deep inside of me that I feel you in my stomach? Or tell you how warm and wet and tight I feel around my fingers?”

Steve groaned, throbbing in his grip as he worked himself faster. “Fuck, are you really?”

“Mhmm,” you replied. “Think about how good I’d feel when you finally let yourself fuck me. You were such a gentleman first, but you don’t have to be with me. I want to make this all about you.”

But he was a gentleman. Of course he wanted to get his dick wet and et cetera, but that wasn’t really why he liked sex. He liked making people feel good all because of him— hearing the pretty noises they made, watching their initial shyness melt away into unabashed desire. 

A lot of the time (most of the time), he felt like a huge fuck-up. Abysmal grades (well, more around average), not good enough for sports scholarships, basically every bit the son that his parents didn’t want to have. Who could really blame him for relishing in the times when he could be good and impressive to someone other than himself?

Whatever. If he thought about that train of thought for more than, like, ten seconds, he’d lose his hard-on and probably start crying into the receiver and spilling all of his life’s worst moments. He really couldn’t imagine anything more pathetic than that. 

So he thought about something else. 

He thought about how he’d lay you down on a beach towel, warmed in the sun, cradled by plush grass beneath it. He’d feel awkward about shucking off his swim trunks— he always hated undressing because it felt so awkward. But you’d look at him like he was the most attractive guy in the whole world. 

He was a sap, what could he say? He would hold your hand too, squeezing it with his as he lined up with your entrance. You’d be so wet that it felt slick and he’d feel proud just knowing he did that to you.

When he finally pushed into you, your eyes would be locked on his, warm with emotion, like the entire world just melted away. And how could he not kiss you? When everything felt so good and your legs were wrapped around his waist and each breath was punctuated by soft, desperate sounds? 

It would feel special. With your foreheads pressed together, breathing the same air. He just wants to be as close to you as possible— needs to feel every inch of your skin, sweaty and sun-warmed, against his. He’d just… bury himself deep inside of you and grind into you. It felt more intimate that way.

He could feel himself getting close. A furrow formed between his brows as he chased his high. Moans broke up his words as he brought himself closer and closer. 

“I’d— fuck— I’d rub your clit. Make you cum before I got there. It’d feel so— so fucking good too. It always feels so good. Oh god. Fuck, I’m close.”

“Go ahead, baby. I want to hear you.”

His entire body shuddered as he came, spilling messily onto his belly and chest. It felt like it lasted forever— that warm, perfect feeling of reaching his peak. He was panting as he came down, stroking himself until overstimulation made him whimper. 

“Fuck… maybe I should pay you for that,” you said after a beat. “Did it feel good, Steve?  Feel a little less lonely?”

“Mhmm,” he replied. He was spent— already feeling languid and heavy. “That was… Really perfect.”

“I’m glad.” You paused again,  and he spent that time trying to catch his breath. “I’m on every night around this time. Like, from around ten to two. I’d like to hear more of your fantasies, maybe even act one out with you, if you’d want that?”

His heart hammered, and he felt incredibly stupid as a blush crept up his neck and cheeks. “Yeah, I’ll call you again soon.”

When you said your good nights, he laid back against his pillows. The dial tone played over the speakers as he stared up at his ceiling, spend cooling on his tummy. Leave it to King Steve to fall for someone he had to pay to talk to.

Your eyelids drooped as you manned the checkout counter at Waldenbooks, one of few stores at the mall that could actually be found vacant during a busy summer day. Last night had been a late one— it didn’t help that you couldn’t stop thinking about Steve, your mystery caller. 

It felt stupid to get hung up on the type of guy who had to call a hotline to get his rocks off, especially when you knew precious little about him. You had his name, his general location, that he had a pool, and he had a nice voice. 

Your bangs lifted as you blew a puff of air out the side of your lips, slowly going insane to the sound of Muzak playing softly through the speakers. 

Steve… Did you know any Steve’s? Steve Crandall got into a motorcycle wreck the year after graduation and died. Then there was Steve Odell who moved off to California on some crazy tech idea he swore was going to change the world. Steven Ferris? He seemed like the type, but there was no way he owned a pool since you were pretty sure he lived in the basement of some old couple’s house. That wiped out your graduating class, at least. 

From your perspective on the second floor, you had a perfect view of the fine piece of ass working the ice cream parlor. He was cute— definitely younger than you by a couple of years— and the stupid costume they had him in surprisingly did it for you. You could watch him mop up spilled sorbet all day and it’d be jerk-off material for the next week. 

  He had nice biceps. And thighs. Fucking hell, the things you’d do to get between those and —

“New releases?” You snap your gaze to the other side of the counter, where a woman with pink lipstick on her teeth looks at you impatiently. 

You plastered on a winning smile and pointed a manicured finger to the other side of the store. “That big shelf on the left-hand wall over there,” you said with saccharine sweetness. “Anything else that I can help you with, ma’am?” 

She frowned and you fought a grin. There was nothing that women pushing forty hated more than being called ma’am. You might as well have been telling them they had a foot in the grave. 

The day passed by with minimal hiccups. You convinced someone to buy your favorite book, so that was a win. And you’d gotten to restock the fun pencils. You clocked out and shrugged off the vest you wore on top of your normal clothes and took your hair down from its ponytail to hang loose on your shoulders. Your perm was kind of killing you. It never sat just how you wanted, almost like it had a mind of its own. 

You made your way out of the mall with a brief glance towards Scoops Ahoy, which was notably missing the hot guy you’d been lusting after since your first day on the job. With a dejected sigh, you escaped the crowded, piercingly loud mall and stepped into the hot summer air. 

Most people (or, more accurately, children) were heading for the busses that would shuttle people back into the town square or their respective neighborhoods, but your car waited for you in the exclusive Employees Only lot in the shade. As you turned to head that way, you bumped straight into a tall, firm figure. 

Huh, you thought. He smells like hot fudge and maraschino cherries. I like those things.

“Sorry,” he said quickly. “I thought you were headed for the bus like everyone else.”

You looked up, squinting against the sun, and felt heat flood your cheeks when you realized that it was the hot ice cream scooper. “Oh, it’s, uh—“ you stammered nervously. It was never as easy as the phone line. “I was too.” You wanted to hit yourself. What the hell were you even talking about?

His brows furrowed. “You were what?“

Fuck. “I… uh— don’t know,” you finally said, ready for the conversation to end forever. “I’ll see you around.” And you were gone. You almost missed him calling after you.

You will?

But you pretended you’d never heard it. 

——

Steve called at midnight, just as you brewed your second cup of coffee of the night. You took a quick sip as the call was directed your way, already feeling much more awake in anticipation of what lay ahead. 

“Hey, Steve,” you greeted, adjusting your voice to that casual, sexy cadence that you had perfected. “I was thinking about you all day today.”

Steve responded with a dismissive psh. “I’m going to pretend that’s true, because I was thinking of you too,” he said, and you could hear his grin. “I kept screwing up at work because I’d get distracted thinking about you.”

You felt heat creep into your cheeks. “Baby, you’ll make me blush.” You paused, chewing on your lip briefly. “So… what’s in the cards for tonight, Steve? What do you want to do with me?”

He paused so long that you almost thought the call had dropped, but eventually he worked up the nerve to continue. “Well, you heard my fantasy last time. This time I want to hear yours.”

You snorted a laugh. “Steve, baby, that’s so incredibly sweet, but you could hate it, or think it’s boring, and then I’ll feel guilty for wasting your money.”

“I won’t,” he insisted. “C’mon, it’ll help us get to know each other better.”

You exhaled slowly through your nose, your tummy already fluttering with thoughts of the hot sailor shelling out dollar ice cream cones with extra sprinkles on top. 

Fuck. 

“Alright, but if you hate it, you’ve gotta promise me that you’ll tell me to shut up and we’ll do something else.” He hummed in affirmation and you laid back against your pillows, sighing as you closed your eyes and fell into your newfound, perfect little fantasy. 

“So… when I’m not doing sexy phone calls, I work a menial job,” you begin. “And normally, I’d be, like, wearing an ugly polo or vest or something with our logo on it, but for the sake of sexiness, let’s say that I’m wearing a cute little dress and my hair looks, like, perfect.”

“What does your hair look like normally?” Steve asked, hung up on the one detail that was specifically for your sake. God, you wanted to burn your local salon to the ground. 

“Uh,” you paused, wondering if you should tell the truth. “So I told my hairstylist to go for Kelly LeBrock and she… you know… tried. It looks so cute sometimes, and then other times it has a total mind of its own.”

“Oh, Kelly LeBrock! She’s such a babe. I saw the trailer for that movie she’s gonna be in. Total fox. Great hair.”

You tried to fight a smile, but couldn’t. “Do you wanna talk hair routines, or do you want me to keep going?”

Steve paused like he was genuinely considering it. “We’ll come back to the hair. I could probably help you figure it out, you know. I’ve got great hair.”

You smirked. “Oh, yeah? Where?”

“Use your imagination.”

You grinned. Oh, I am.

You were stocking shelves, as usual— except this time you couldn’t reach the top shelf. Standing on your tiptoes, the hemline of your skirt inching up and up and up. And suddenly there was a presence behind you, reaching up to stock the shelf for you. He smelled really nice, felt warm pressed up against your back.

“Am I the handsome stranger in this scenario?”

You said yes, even though you were mostly thinking about your mystery sailor from the mall. God, even the stupid uniform did it for you. Maybe it was the short shorts.

In the fantasy, the two of you didn’t even talk— really, your fantasies were typically pretty straight to the point, unlike Steve’s. The plot and dialogue would get skipped, and then suddenly, your back was pressed against the ridges of the shelves and the handsome stranger was on his knees in front of you, kissing sloppily up your thighs. 

Usually, you’d have some sense of control— keep your hands above the belt. It was better for you that way. It gave you a sense of separation from what was real and what was happening on the phone. And, really, you never really had a particular need to touch yourself while you were handling the calls anyway. 

And yet… Your hand slipped past the elastic hand of your panties, between your thighs where you were already wet and needy from just your own imagination. You gasped into the phone, bucking your hips into your own touch. 

Steve made a choked sound, crackly through the phone’s speakers. He knew exactly what you were doing. 

“Getting all worked up thinking about it, huh?” He asked, and you could hear a slight rustling and movement as he got himself undressed. It was honestly puzzling that it took that long, or that he didn’t call already ready to go. “Sound so pretty.”

You weren’t even aware that you were making a significant amount of noise, but Steve had keyed into it easily, hanging onto every sigh and whimper. 

In your fantasy, his mouth was absolutely fucking sinful. He would moan against your cunt, nuzzling against your clit with his nose as he lapped up your slick. It was sloppy, and the sounds he made could have made the devil himself blush a burning red. His chin and mouth would drip with the combination of your juices and his spit— his fingernails leaving crescents in your thighs from where he held you tight. 

When he looked up at you from between your thighs, his gaze would be equal parts hungry and sweet. He wanted it to feel good for you because the more you get off, the better it felt for him too. When he felt you getting closer and closer, he moved his fingertip to your entrance, teasing you with featherlight grazes that gathered your essence. He pressed in, just to his first knuckle, and relished in the way you would clench around him at the smallest intrusion before he gave it to you entirely.

Despite the shitty quality of the phone, which was probably your fault, since you had owned it since at least ‘78, you could hear the slick sounds of him stroking himself to your words. And, for once, you relished in that noise across the line. 

You pushed a finger inside of yourself, then a second. Most guys you’d been with got that far then jammed them in and out at a wrist-killing speed until you faked it. Your thing was always just keeping them still, pressing against the sweet spot just barely a few inches inside. Paired with the dizzying pleasure of attention to your clit, the sensation was electric and all-consuming. 

It felt too good to stop, and yet you knew you needed to make it through your fantasy before you came and that precious euphoria rushed over you. Because after the euphoria came that strange sense of disgust, and you couldn’t really afford to spend the rest of the call grossed out by what you were doing. 

“Fuck, anyways,” you began, your breath coming in short pants. “He— you— would take off your shorts.” Stupid, tiny, tight shorts. “And, fuck, you’d already be so hard and needy. You just wanted me so bad. You would press me against the shelf and when you push into me it’d be so easy and slick and I’d feel so full.”

Your cunt pulsed around your fingers, so close to the edge that you could almost swear you were already over it. The precipice was so nice you almost didn’t mind waiting for it. You would hear Steve fucking his hand, pretty moans and grunts passing his lips as he brought himself closer. It wasn’t really fair to leave either one of you hanging much longer. 

“You’d kiss me. And it would be a little messy, but we wouldn’t care. You’d taste good, and you’d feel good. Fuck, Steve. I need to cum so bad.”

He panted into the phone and you practically mewled. God, he sounded so much better than the gross old men you usually had to deal with. “Fuck, I’m right here with you,” he managed, his voice breathy and desperate. “Let me hear you.”

Your ears rang as you came, making the world go a bit fuzzy. Distantly, you could hear how pretty Steve sounded as he came. Honestly, you’d never been one to relish in that type of thing— most guys you’d hooked up with kind of grossed you out. But, god, you’d give anything to watch him get off. Your chest heaved, rising and falling with a shiny sheen of sweat.

“So…” Steve began, sounding a little more languid and a lot more blissed out. There was a sweet, carefree quality to his voice. “Your fantasy is having sex at work?”

You rolled your eyes and fought a grin. “Hey, I didn’t judge your hot, sweaty poolside fuck session.”

”That was about making love,” He insisted. Your heart stuttered a bit. You had to admit that was sweet. “And I’m not knocking your fantasy— I just can’t even imagine someone wanting to have sex with me in my uniform.”

You grinned. “Aw, you have a uniform? I bet you look really sexy in it.”

He huffed, an annoyed groan escaping his lips. “No, I hate my uniform and I’m counting the days until I can rip it off and throw it in, like, a bonfire.”

“I can help with the ripping it off part, y’know,” you teased. 

“No,” he said firmly. “No, we’re not going there, because, one, I came so much I can’t even think about getting hard again or my dick will hurt, and two, if I start having workplace fantasies about you and my uniform I’ll get hard on the job and end up on a registry somewhere.”

“Alright, alright,” you said with a laugh. “I had fun tonight, Steve. I, uh, don’t really get a lot of people asking what I like. I don’t get anyone asking what I like, actually.”

“Well, what can I say? I’m just a pleaser, I guess.” 

He said his goodnights just before hanging up, promising to call again soon. You didn’t have a clear idea of when soon was. You’d had long-term customers promise a call soon that just dropped off the face of the earth. You laid there listening to the dial tone until it started to hurt your ears, then put the phone back on the receiver.

The bed creaked on its ancient springs as you got up, padding out into the hallway. Outside the big window at the end of the hall, you saw a lamp switch off across the street, making the house go dark. It felt a little comforting to know that boring old Hawkins was awake just like you were. 

In the bathroom, you washed your hands with cotton candy-scented soap and tugged at your misbehaving curls. Maybe you would take up Steve on his hair tips. Before you could think about Steve any longer, your phone rang again. And though part of you wished it would be Steve, you knew that there was such a thing as too soon to be ‘soon.’

There wasn’t really a point in pouting. It was decent money. You answered the phone, put on your fake voice, and got to work. 

Steve called nearly nightly for the next month. If having a backyard school wasn’t proof enough he was loaded, his ability to pay your rates nightly sealed the deal. 

It wasn’t always sexual. Well, to be fair, it was mostly sexual. No matter how much you looked forward to phone sex with Steve, you enjoyed talking to him just as much. You learned about his childhood dog, Walter, and his allegedly prodigy-like swimming skills. He was CPR certified, could say his ABCs in French (and nothing else), and loved the colors red, yellow, and blue.

You told him what you could without giving too much away. That Jenny, obviously, wasn’t your real name. Your favorite color, favorite book, favorite flower. You told him that you were in college, going back in the fall. That you only started doing this gig because textbooks were expensive and you wanted to be able to feed yourself while at school. 

Without meaning to, you started to care about Steve. It was probably stupid, and definitely against everything you thought you stood for. But somehow, he managed to squeeze into the recesses of your brain and set up camp there. Try as you might, you couldn’t get him out of your mind. 

“Alright, little Stevie, that’s your fifth wistful sigh of the day,” Robin said, marking a tally on her palm. It struck him as weird that she was counting, but it wasn’t exactly anything new. “You’ve gotta stop or I might actually start feeling bad for you.”

His chin rested in his hand, and he looked over at her with wide puppy dog eyes. “Can you love someone you’ve never met?”

Robin shrugged. “I dunno. Probably not, why?”

He sighed again, his shoulders sagging. “What if my dream girl isn’t exactly accessible? Like… she’s impossible to find and might not even live in Hawkins. She might live in, like, Indianapolis.”

Robin’s expression— the slight squint of her eyes and downturn to her lips— told him she didn’t particularly care. But the store was dead on a boring Tuesday, so digging into Steve’s life was about the only interesting thing to do on the job. 

“That sucks,” she said slowly. “How do you know this mystery soulmate?”

Steve blanched, picking at his nails as he tried to consider a reasonable excuse. “Uh… Blind setup. Very blind setup.” Robin raised an eyebrow. “I only know her number, nothing else.”

“Name?” Steve shook his head glumly. “Damn. But you think you love this girl?” Steve nodded again, but felt a little dumb. He never did things in half-measures. Never felt things that way either, so it made sense to him, but maybe it was a little crazy. 

He just couldn’t stop thinking about you. He wanted to help you with your bad perm and give you advice about how to take care of it. He wanted to surprise you at your boring job with lunch and flowers. It had been a long time since he’d been this excited about someone. 

A tinny beeping sound made him jolt, nearly slipping on the freshly mopped floor. Finally. He didn’t hesitate to tear off his work shirt, leaving him in the shorts and the white tee shirt he kept beneath it for this very reason— not having to walk out in public in full uniform.

He offered a quick bye to Robin and clocked out as quickly as he could. It had been only a week since Jenny had told him her favorite book, and he’d been saving up tips to pay for a copy at Waldenbooks. 

There was a girl behind the counter with a messy ponytail that had half-fallen-out, music blaring from her headphones. It must’ve been a mixtape because it went from some Hall and Oates song to an older Queen one. A little disjointed, but not in bad taste. She was completely immersed in the novel in her hand, so much so that she didn’t notice his presence.

“Excuse me?” He asked, putting on a winning smile. 

“What?” The girl in front of him blinked in surprise and tugged the headphones down around her neck. The music continued— saxophone and a dance beat. Staying Power. He liked that one. Once she’d paused it abruptly, she looked at him again, and he saw a glint of something in her eyes, like she recognized him.

“I’m looking for this book—“ He withdrew a piece of paper from his pocket, where he had scribbled the title down as Jenny told him about it. “Do you know if it’s in stock?”

She looked at the note, then chewed on her lip anxiously. “Mhmm.” She watched him again, like she was expecting something. It took a moment, but it clicked. 

She’s the girl who bumped into him outside a month ago and said weird stuff! “Oh! You were right, I guess. About seeing me around.” He squinted, reading her name tag aloud. 

“Hm?” She blinked a few times, like she was taken out of a daydream. “Oh. Yeah, sorry about all of that. I just had a long day and my brain was fried.”

He nodded. “I get that,” he replied. “Next thing I know I’ll wake up from scooping ice cream in my sleep.” She laughed at that, a smile splitting across her features. “I’m Steve, by the way.”

Her expression faltered, just the tiniest bit. Almost enough that he wouldn’t notice, especially since she corrected it just as quickly. “I’ll go grab that book for you, ‘Kay? Just… stay here.”

She disappeared into the shelves, leaving him standing awkwardly at the counter. The store was oddly empty— he would’ve at least expected some nerdy kids like Dustin to be rooting around. When she returned, she seemed more nervous than before.

“Here, just take it—“ She said, shoving a beat-up-looking copy at him. His brows furrowed as he looked down at the copy in his hands. The cover was bent and torn in places. Corners of pages were dog eared, sticky note tabs stuck out from pages, and he could see glimpses of pen and highlighter. Noticing his confusion, she elaborated. “We’re out, but I had an old copy in my bag. I’ve already read it, so you can borrow it.”

He furrowed his brows. “Is that, like… allowed?”

“Probably!” She said with a startling lack of confidence. She swallowed, giving him an awkward smile. “Just bring it back when you’re done.”

He hesitated. “Uh… okay. Thanks.” He turned to walk away when she called out after him. 

 “Bye, Steve.” 

He wondered why that sounded so familiar. 

Fuck. 

“I mean… what are the odds?” You spoke aloud as you paced your room. When your reflection caught your attention, you felt, and looked, like a madwoman. “It’s not him. It’s not him, and I’m not going to worry about it.”

Five minutes later, you sat up in bed, unable to focus on the book you were reading. It was going to keep bothering you unless you did at least a little digging. But, Jesus, where did you even start with something like this?

“Hey, Rhonda?” You called, popping your head out of your room. “Do you remember any hot underclassmen named Steve from high school?”

Rhonda Finley was the prettiest girl from the class of ‘83. And it wasn’t an exaggeration either, seeing as she was voted Most Beautiful and Miss Hawkins within the same school year. The fact that you were even friends felt like a strange coincidence, but there you both were regardless. 

She carried all of her yearbooks into your room, settling onto the fluffy rug beside your bed. 

“You said his name is Steve?” She asked from her spot on the floor. She flipped through the old yearbook with reverence— pausing to look at photos of herself on other pages. “Steve… stevestevesteve. What about Stephen Cranston? He did the morning announcements, he was decent.”

You glanced at his picture briefly and shook your head. “No, not him,” you replied. “He’s cuter. Uh… boyish is a good word to describe him. Sharp nose and warm eyes.”

Rhonda snorted, flipping another page. “Okay, Shakespeare.” 

You chewed on your lip, watching her tab through until you made a squeak of recognition. The faintest glimpse of a younger Steve in a picture of a home economics class. “Ronnie, flip back,” you said, tapping her shoulder insistently. She did as you said and you pointed. “That’s him. Younger, but it’s him.”

She squinted, reading the small caption. “Sophomore Steve Harrington cooks up trouble in Mrs. Destefano’s Home Ec class!’” She laughed and flipped until she found the sophomore class portraits. “Yep. Steven Harrington.”

You sat back on your heels. “Huh.”

She closed the yearbook and glanced back at you. “I think I went to a pool party of his once,” Ronnie said, brows furrowed as she tried to find the memory. “He was friends with that freckle-y kid that my asshole ex was friends with. God, that was the night when we got into that screaming match and we broke up for like a month before he was begging for another chance.”

Pool party? You felt a knot in your stomach that you weren’t even sure you could have untangled at that point. Was it even possible that your mystery cute phone guy was the unbelievably attractive ice cream scooper at the mall?

No chance. You weren’t that lucky. And yet… maybe a seed of hope took root in your chest. And maybe… maybe you could get him to spill enough details to prove it. 

——

Steve called you around midnight. Your heart leapt into your throat as you answered, thrumming and threatening to burst from nerves. 

“Hey.” His voice was soft, a little tired. “I, uh, thought about you today.”

You could picture him so clearly— his soft hair, long legs, boyish charm. “Hope I wasn’t too distracting. Were you working today? What do you do?” You dug a little deeper with the question, trying to suss out any information you could. 

“Yeah,” he replied with a sigh. “I work in food service at a mall I live near. It’s nothing to write home about, I guess, but it’s temporary until I start applying for the spring semester.”

Okay, so there’s no doubt about it anymore. It was Steve Harrington, the hot ice cream scooper in the sailor suit, who was calling your line every night. The same Steve Harrington who you’d bumped into twice after your shift. 

You tried to push that aside and focus on the reason for the call. 

“So I was a welcome distraction, then?”

He laughed. “I can’t imagine a world where you aren’t.” He paused. “Did you, uh… think about me?”

The hope in his voice made your heart swell. “Of course I thought about you, baby. You’re my favorite caller.” You paused, debating your next move. “I’ve been thinking about getting you all needy and desperate for me all day. About hearing your pretty sounds.”

He fucking whimpered. “I’ve spent the entire night hard just waiting to call you.” You could hear him shuffle around on the other end of the call, presumably stripping off his remaining layers. “Didn’t want to be too desperate and call too fast.”

“Poor baby,” you cooed. “Can you do something for me? It’ll feel so good, I promise.”

“Mhmm.”

“Grab a pillow and lay on your stomach for me,” you instructed. Without hesitation, you could hear the staticky sound of movement on his end as he shifted. “This might sound weird, but—“

“You want me to… to like—“ he stammered nervously. “Hump it?”

You blanched, wondering if your perverse fantasies of the hot mall guy getting off had perhaps pushed him a bit too far. “I mean…. Only if you’re into it. We can do something else.”

“No,” he said quickly. “No, I’ve… I mean— I’ve done it before.”

Oh. Butterflies buzzed around your tummy as you let yourself indulge in the mental image. “Yeah? Did it feel good?”

“Mhmm,” he hummed. You could hear rustling on the phone, like he was trying to situate himself comfortably. “Just made a mess is all.”

Fucking hell. “You gonna make a mess for me tonight, then?” You asked, twirling the phone cord around your finger. He moaned in response, and you grinned. “Aw, did you already get started, sweetheart?”

He moaned out a confirmation and you grinned, letting your free hand trail down your belly and beneath the waistband of your panties. “You already sound so pretty, Steve. So good for me, doing exactly what I say.”

The breathy sounds of his pants and moans made slickness gather between your thighs. Sounded like he hadn’t been lying about being hard and desperate all night just anticipating the call. “We’re not gonna talk tonight, we’re just gonna listen to each other,” you told him. 

Maybe it was unfair to him that you had the perfect mental image of him in your head since you already knew what he looked like. You relished in that knowledge as you coated your fingers in your wetness and rubbed small circles around your clit. 

Steve was loud, which made you wonder if his neighbors hated him. If you had to live next door to Steve Harrington and his pornstar moans, you’d probably go crazy. You were going crazy just from being on the other end of the phone. You were louder than usual too— it was a miracle that Rhonda worked nights.

It wasn’t long before you both finished— gasping and moaning into the phone’s receiver. You sighed as you laid back against your pillows, completely sated and content as you listened to Steve’s shaky breaths. 

“How’re you feeling?” You asked, fighting the desire to twirl your hair around your fingers. 

“Good,” he said finally. “Gonna have to do laundry, wash my sheets. I probably needed to anyway.” He paused. “I picked up a copy of that book you were talking about. It’s actually funny, ‘cause they were out of copies apparently, but the girl behind the counter let me have hers. Like it was meant to be, or something.”

Your heart hammered. “That’s really sweet, Steve,” you said softly. “I’m sorry in advance if you hate it.”

“I won’t!” He insisted. “I read the first couple of pages while I waited to call. I’m not the best reader, though. Might take me a while to finish it, but I do like it so far.”

You were partially convinced that you were in love with Steve Harrington, despite the fact that he wouldn’t even recognize you on the street. “This might be… I mean, maybe it’s crossing a line, and I could totally get fired for even suggesting… but—“ You hesitated. Fuck it. “I want to give you my personal line. So you don’t have to pay to talk to me. It’s not fair if we’re both enjoying the conversations but only one of us is paying, you know?”

He was quiet, almost too quiet. Nerves stirred in your belly. “Is that… you know, okay?”

“Yeah, I’d like that,” he said quickly. “Let me just grab a pen.”

You couldn’t help but stare longingly down into the atrium of the mall, where Steve Harrington was sweeping crumbs off of one of the booths inside Scoops Ahoy.

“Hello?” A kid snapped his fingers a few times and you swallowed down your annoyance as you turned. “We called earlier about Ender’s Game. The guy on the phone said he’d hold three copies. It’s under Mike.”

You glanced behind you, where the books clearly weren’t. Fuck Greg for making your menial job even worse. “It must’ve slipped his mind. I can grab those for you.” The kid made a bitchy face as you stepped away from the counter and you bit your tongue to keep from saying something rude. Fucking latchkey kids.

When you returned with three copies of the book, you looked at the kids skeptically. “By the way, if you stole any of the pencils or bookmarks, my boss is going to take it out of my paycheck and I won’t be able to feed my kids.”

“It costs thirty cents to feed your kids?”

You sighed and rang them up, but they continued to loiter in the shelves while you pretended to be busy. 

“There’s nothing to do,” one of them said after picking up a copy of Sports Illustrated briefly. “We should just go back to my house and play Atari.”

A red-haired girl rolled her eyes. “Lucas, we’re not playing Pong again.” She paused and glanced down towards the food court. “We could go see Steve.”

It took all your willpower not to react. 

“Why do you always want to go see Steve?” Lucas asked. “It’s not like you have a boyfriend or anything.”

“She just wants to see him because she’s got some weird crush on him,” the bitchy one said. Mike? The red-haired girl blushed nearly as fiery as her hair and shoved Mike hard. “What? We all know it. You and El are always drooling over him. It’s weird.”

“He’s nice, okay? Way nicer than you are, asshole.” She shoved past the group and left on her own, leaving the other two guys to scramble after her. One kid was left behind, the one with the unfortunate bowl cut. He offered a wave before he followed after them. 

When they got downstairs, you watched him greet the redhead with a smile and a ruffle of her hair. Lucas and the bowl-cut kid got a slap on the back, and the bitchy one got a half-smile that wasn’t returned. 

Then he shelled out free ice cream, which was evident because none of them made a move to pay. 

After they left, you watched him reach into his own wallet and cover the cost, placing the bills carefully into the cash register. 

The rest of your shift was spent fawning over Steve and flipping through issues of the magazines you had on display. You felt idiotic gazing at Steve Harrington with puppy dog eyes while reading Top Ten Ways to Know if He’s Really Into You! Of course he wasn’t into you— he didn’t even know who you were, not really. 

Around two in the afternoon, you were snapped out of your reverie by the sight of Steve walking through the threshold of the shop, looking around the shop before his gaze settled on you and lit up in recognition. 

“Hi!” He said, nearly knocking over a carefully displayed unofficial biography of Reagan on his way over. You smiled, straightening your posture as he approached. “I wanted to thank you for the book.”

Your heart thumped. “Oh, you don’t need to thank me,” you insisted. “I just wanted to help.”

He reached into the pocket of his uniform and pulled out two coupons to Scoops Ahoy with a flourish. They advertised free ice cream in the nautical scrawl. “Does this change your mind?” He raised his brows and smiled smugly. 

You rolled your eyes and grabbed them, reading the fine print. Valid only at the Starcourt Mall location on weekdays between 8am and 11am. Offer not valid in conjunction with any other deals. Offer excludes banana splits, sundaes, and the U.S.S. Butterscotch.

“Maybe,” you replied. “Is free ice cream your thing or something? I saw you give that group of kids free sundaes earlier.”

He furrowed his brows, considering it, then grinned. “Are you watching me?”

Fuck. You spluttered, shaking your head as you fumbled through a response. “No. They were here first, then talked about going to see you, and then I just…” He laughed and leaned over the desk slightly, as if testing the view. 

“Oh, yeah. Perfect view from here.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to fight the heat burning in your cheeks. “So you come here to thank me with shitty coupons, and then you accuse me of spying on you?”

He shook his head as he leaned back. “Hey, it’s not accusing you if it’s true.” He was so smug. “Anyway, I’ll get out of your hair. See you around?” He looked at you expectantly until you nodded, face burning hot. He smiled, shoved his hands into his pockets, and walked out casually like he hadn’t just totally caught you creeping on him. 

God, you were going to make him pay for that later. 

——

Steve paced around his room as he tried to gain the courage to call you. He would have liked to say that he needed to get your number from his Rolodex, but he’d memorized it nearly the moment he put it down on paper. 

He was thinking of you, but he was also thinking about the girl from the mall who seemed to keep popping up. There was something about her, the way he was drawn to her, the way she spoke, the way she looked at him. It was all so familiar and easy, like they’d known each other forever. 

He didn’t know how to feel about that. 

Finally, he settled on his bed, dressed only in a thin white tank top and boxers that were a size too big since he stopped working out as much. With nerves buzzing in his ears, he dialed your number and waited. 

And waited. And waited. He swallowed hard, wondering if you’d given him a fake number just to be rid of him. The number went to the answering machine, and his mouth went dry. 

“Hi! You’ve reached Y/N Y/L/N. I’m out right now, but leave your name and number at the beep and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can!” A beep sounded and Steve hung up suddenly. His stomach sank. 

He wasn’t supposed to know your real name like that. It felt like some gross intrusion. And yet, he repeated it over and over again in his mind. Why did it seem so familiar?

On his nightstand, the beat up paperback he had borrowed stood out like a sore thumb. Oh. The book, the same book you, Jenny, had told him about. And the girl who worked there… Y/N. 

It was too much, far too much to be a coincidence. He grabbed the book and opened it to look at the inside cover, where your name, Jenny’s name was scrawled inside. Because you and Jenny were the same person. 

Every single conversation leading up to that point played over in his mind. The messy perm, the shitty job with the ugly polo, the fantasy about being pushed against the shelves and fucked. Oh, God. And you were totally spying on him. 

It should’ve been an absolute win for him, but his stomach turned as he glanced over at the phone on the receiver. You were gorgeous and funny and smart and so sexy. Why would you want to be with someone who needed to call a sex hotline?

He could just picture the look on your face when you discovered that the guy who worked in the stupid uniform at Scoops was so pathetic that he needed to call someone to get attention. 

He swallowed hard, guilt and doubt settling icy in his stomach. He put the book down, and didn’t call back.

——

Steve was sulking during his shift. Probably biting the heads off of a few too many kids who asked for a few too many samples. 

“Jesus, how many times do you need to try cotton candy?” He snapped as he dug out a tiny spoonful of the pink and blue ice cream. The kid furrowed his brows up at him, puzzled by the sudden outburst. 

“Uh, can I try Cherries Jubilee next?” He asked hesitantly. 

Steve exhaled slowly through his nose. “No, you’re done. Out.”

The kid rolled his eyes, swore under his breath, and stomped out of Scoops Ahoy. 

Robin was staring at him funny when he turned around, a mix of curiosity and amusement. “You’re totally PMSing today.”

He couldn’t manage more than a scowl in response. “Shut up.”

Robin laughed and tossed a cherry at him, which he managed to catch before it splattered against the glass of the ice cream case. He hated maraschino cherries— the artificial sweetness and unnatural color. But, hey, he could tie a cherry stem into a knot with his tongue.

He hadn’t called you for three days, which felt like the longest stretch of time in his life. And he hadn’t even seen you around Starcourt, which was both a good thing and absolutely unbearable. 

Part of him wanted to just jump on the escalator and see if you were sitting behind the counter at Waldenbooks, but he knew it was better to just have a clean break. Maybe in a few months, you’d forget about that Steve guy who’d called you and he could make his move then.

The shift change hit around lunchtime, and Steve prepared for the influx of people who were getting off work on empty stomachs. As he suspected, the line stretched out the door and he was practically up to his elbows in ice cream, mindlessly scooping flavor combinations that should’ve been illegal. Until—

“Hey, Steve,” you said, standing in front of him in your ugly work polo with messy hair half-fallen out of your ponytail. “Staying busy?”

He stammered nervously and mumbled out an unintelligible response. “Ice cream?” Was all that he could manage to ask, which made him want to throw himself into the fountain right in the middle of the food court. 

But you just smiled. “A shake, actually. Chocolate banana if that’s possible.” He nodded and got to work, thankful for the distraction. Your eyes followed his every movement as he made your shake, but he couldn’t let himself look at you.

Because if he did really look at you, all he’d be able to think about were the phone calls you’d had— the calls where he’d heard you cum with breathy gasps and pants and soft whimpers. And— Jesus Christ— he was thinking about it and it made him feel dizzy. 

He used a little bit too much whipped cream and put rainbow sprinkles on top for God knows why, but he handed it to you with a weak smile. 

“Three bucks, right?” You asked, nodding to the menu.

“Uh, you can just have it,” he said without even thinking. “On the house.”

You furrowed your brows for a moment,  but smiled brightly. “Really? Thanks, Steve. I appreciate it.” You took a sip and gave a soft moan at the flavor that made a full-body chill run through him. “See you around?”

“Yeah. See you.” You gave a small wave before you disappeared into the food court. He watched you the whole way, like you were the only person in the room.

Fuck. He was hard. Like, rock hard and the stupid apron on the uniform only made it more obvious. He’d fucking pavloved himself to get turned on just by your voice. 

“Robin, I’m taking my fifteen,” he said, darting into the back before she could protest. He stepped inside the walk-in freezer and propped the door with a crate of waffle cones. After about five minutes, he felt like he could actually think again.

“Fuck,” He muttered under his breath. He had to call you again.

You were sincerely considering quitting the hotline. After Steve, just listening to the other guys panting and blowing their loads on the phone was nauseating. They didn’t care to learn more about you, not the way he did. They just wanted to get their rocks off to an anonymous, sexy voice. 

Then again, Steve had disappeared too. Maybe giving him your real number had crossed a line. Maybe it freaked him out that you were taking it beyond a transaction. You sighed and wrapped yourself tighter in your house coat. Rhonda always kept the AC on overdrive in the summer, which meant you needed at least two blankets to be comfortable. 

When the phone rang, you picked it up without thinking, half expecting it to be Rhonda calling you to check in during her break. 

“Hey,” you said absentmindedly, leaning back against your pillows. 

“This is, uh— this is the right number, right? It’s Steve.”

Your heart nearly burst out of your chest at the sound of his voice. “Hey, yeah, it’s the right number,” you assured. You wriggled out of your housecoat and tossed it to the side so you could get more comfortable. “How are you? It’s been a few days.”

He sighed. “Yeah, I, uh,” he paused. “I think I psyched myself out of calling you.”

“Oh,” you said softly. “Well, I’m glad you did call. I really missed you.”

“You did?”

You laughed, letting yourself get more comfortable. “Mhmm,” you replied. “I mean, we’ve been talking everyday for a while, you know?”

“I missed you too, couldn’t stop thinking about you, even at work.” You smiled, remembering how absentminded he had seemed when you showed up in the ice cream parlor. And he was thinking about you. Not you, but still you. “I— uh— had to walk into our deep freezer to cool myself off.”

“How long has it been for you?” You asked suddenly. “Like, since you’ve had sex.”

Steve chuckled nervously. “I dunno… two months?” He paused. “Is that lame?”

“Nuh-uh, baby,” you assured. “Think it’s sweet. No wonder you’re all needy all the time. You need a nice, tight, wet pussy to sink into, hm?”

A low moan escaped his lips. “God—“

“Better than your hand, isn’t it?” You teased. “I bet you’re so desperate that you’ve been touching yourself this whole time, even before you called me. Isn’t that right?”

The closest thing you got in response was another pretty moan. “You’re big too, aren’t you?” You mused aloud, not even waiting for a response. “I know you are, you’ve basically told me in not so many words. Most girls can’t handle that, baby. It’s not your fault. That’s okay, we could take it slow, you could get me all nice and stretched for you, take your time like the gentleman you are.”

“Fuck— fuck—“ His words came out choked and desperate. You could almost picture it— the way he’d be fucking up into his hand, needing more and more.

“I bet you always have to take it real slow, huh? Gotta be careful so you don’t hurt someone. But that just means you can feel everything better, doesn’t it? Inch by inch by inch, every flutter and squeeze. And you can see on their faces how good it feels, can’t you? You can watch their eyes roll back and their mouths fall open while they cry out for you. I mean, Jesus, Steve, I bet most girls come before you’re even all the way inside.”

His hand sped up, desperate and needy, just as you’d said. You could hear it with each wet slap of skin against skin. His moans were constant, a stream of yesahgodfuckohshitahyesahfuckfuckfuck— until the prettiest moan escaped his lips, all low and deep, and you knew he’d made a pretty mess of himself. 

“Bet that felt really nice,” you said while he panted on the other end of the line. 

He made a weak noise, then finally managed a, “Uh-huh. Fuck.”

You laughed softly. “That’s gotta be the fastest I’ve gotten you off,” you said finally. “I like having that much power over you. It turns me on so much.”

He groaned. “Fuck, give me five— no— ten minutes. I can barely breathe right now.”

You grinned, relishing in your ability to torture him a bit after he’d teased you at work. Unknowingly, of course, but still. “I dunno if I can wait that long, Steve… I’m so wet that my thighs are all sticky.”

“God, you’re killing me.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his dramatics. “Why don’t you lay there and listen to me? Be good and keep your hands off, alright? You already came, so don’t get greedy.”

He made a nearly pained noise. “Fine. Fine.”

A smirk spread across your lips as you let your hand move between your thighs. Really, you weren’t exaggerating that much— you found yourself slick and needy when you finally slid your panties down your thighs. Actually, you thought you’d probably have to be a statue to hear Steve Harrington panting and cumming over the phone and stay unaffected.

You could hear his breath catch with every soft moan and whimper, and maybe you got mean and held the phone near your tummy, so he could hear just how wet and messy you’d gotten as you steadily fucked yourself with your fingers. When you got desperate enough, you held the phone against your ear once more. 

“I dunno, Steve… I don’t think my fingers can cut it,” you said, exaggerating the pouty tone of your voice. “I wish you were here to take care of me.”

He groaned, low and muffled. You had a feeling he’d thrown an arm over his face. “You’re so unfair.”

A smile spread across your lips at his words. “No, baby. What’s unfair is that I’m laying here all alone, feeling so empty and needy, and you’re not here to make it all better.” You reached into your nightstand, pulling out the dildo you’d bought for your twentieth birthday. “‘S okay, I can take care of myself just fine. You ever been to a sex shop?”

It got quiet on the line, and you could nearly hear the gears turning. 

“N-no.”

You raised a brow. “Really? But you know what they sell, don’t you?” You paused until he hummed a soft uh-huh. “It’s only fair that I get to use a toy to fill myself up since you can’t do it for me, right?”

“Y-yeah, wanna hear you do it.”

You grinned. “Patience, baby. Gotta get it wet first so it glides in nice and easy.”

Blowing a rubber dick wasn’t how you’d envisioned ending your day, but— what can you say?— spontaneity is the spice of life. You made sure he heard every wet pass of it between your lips, every exaggerated gag as you took it into your throat, the messy smack of your lips. It tasted like a tire and dish soap, but the desperate, restrained sounds he was making made it all worth it. 

Your eyes were watery when you finally pulled the toy from your mouth, certain you’d adequately worked him up for the time being. Plus, you were worked up just as much, if not more— you wanted to just fuck yourself into oblivion already. 

Instinctively, your thighs fell farther apart as you moved the toy between your legs. You let the tip tease your entrance, only a little, before you began to push it inside. A soft moan fell from your lips as you finally got the nice, full feeling you’d been dreaming of. 

You laid there for a moment, letting your body adjust to it, reveling in it. With your free hand, you slowly circled your clit until your cunt fluttered around the intrusion. 

“Feels so nice,” you sighed, lips brushing against the mouthpiece of the phone. You felt drunk and hazy with desire. “Like I’m so close already that I can taste it.”

“Make yourself come for me,” he practically begged. “Wanna hear it.”

You moaned at his words, but shook your head. “Can’t yet. I wanna make this last.”

Time felt a little hazy as you kept working the toy in and out, slow and deep. Occasionally, you’d brush against your clit just right, or the toy would find a nice spot inside of you, and your entire body would tremble with need. 

Steve’s breath came in pants over the phone, but you couldn’t tell if he had broken and actually started to touch himself. You kind of hoped he did, even if you wouldn’t say it. 

Eventually, you came without warning— the build-up of it all made it impossible to avoid. Once you started over that edge, you couldn’t crawl back even if you’d wanted to. Moans fell from your lips as you succumbed to your orgasm; every nerve was like a live wire. When it finally came to be too much, you slipped the toy out and relaxed onto your bed with a contented sigh. 

“Are you still alive?” You asked, quiet crackling over the phone. 

“Uh… yeah,” he replied, a little distracted. “Have you ever come without having to touch yourself?”

You laughed softly. “Once. I read in Cosmo that some girls can get off just from playing with their tits. Took a while, but I eventually got there. Why?”

“I just, uh… listening to you, all the noises and hearing how wet you were… I guess that was all it took.” He sounded so embarrassed, but it was the cutest fucking thing you’d ever heard. You could imagine it so clearly, his cock pulsing against his twitching stomach, cum making puddles around his navel. 

“That’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard,” you said with a smile. “You’re probably exhausted, huh?”

He laughed a bit. “A little, but I can stay up and talk, if you’re free.”

Ever the gentleman, Steve stayed up another hour to talk about whatever you could think of to keep the conversation running. The new collection at The Gap, whether or not he planned to see Back to the Future, his favorite music got him talking for half an hour at least. Finally, you were yawning and beat. 

“Steve, baby, I should go to sleep,” you said, almost apologetically. 

“That’s okay. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You froze, brows furrowing. “What?”

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he repeated, sleepily. “At the mall.”

“Um… night,” you said quickly, panicking slightly as you hung up the phone.

Steve had mopped the same spot on the floor five times during his shift, all while sparing fleeting glances towards Waldenbooks, where you were immersed in a magazine or a book. Always doing anything but looking down at him. 

Which was good… maybe? He couldn’t quite decide.

He hadn’t been thinking when he said that on the phone. But he was sleepy, and his brain was a little foggy, and then he’d gone and doubled down. 

As soon as he hung up the phone, he remembered that he had given his real name, and you knew he worked in food service, and you knew he wore a stupid uniform. That narrowed it down really easily. 

So he spent his shift in a constant state of dread and panic, waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

By the time the mall was closing, he had occupied himself with wiping down tables. He let Robin head home and pulled out his Walkman to keep him company. Since working at Starcourt, he made a pretty sick collection of tapes that wound up in the lost and found. This one was a metal mix, which typically wasn’t his thing, but was growing on him. 

He didn’t realize you were standing over him until you rapped twice on the table, drawing his eyes up, up, up until they were locked with yours. He scrambled to pause the tape and stand up, adjusting his stupid uniform as an embarrassed blush grew on his cheeks. 

“Hi,” you greeted. Your Waldenbooks vest hung loosely on your form, right on top of a pink polo. 

“Hi,” he echoed. It was quiet for a second, as he tried to think of what to say, and as you scrambled for the words you’d been practicing all day. “I’ve known it was you for a while.” The words escaped him before he could stop himself, and then he just stared at you, completely mortified. 

You laughed, covering your face for a moment as heat flooded your cheeks. “You knew? I didn’t even— I mean, I didn’t realize. Because I knew it was you calling. For a while, actually. 

He grinned, leaning forward. “So… the guy you said you wanted to… against the shelves…?” When you ducked your head and looked away, he smiled like the cat who got the cream. “No way. You were totally perving on me, even before!”

“You had to walk into a deep freezer to cool off because you were thinking about me, perv.” He laughed, and you wanted to kiss him so badly it freaked you out a little. “So… What do we do now? I mean, now that you know who I am, and I know who you are, and we’re going to keep running into each other.”

Your poor cuticles were going through the wringer— red and stinging where you picked at them due to nerves. There was nothing you wanted more than for him to just sweep you into his arms like some kind of fairytale and promise his undying devotion. Or just say he wanted to date you. Whichever.

“I could take you on a date,” he said sheepishly, scratching at the back of his neck. “I mean, if your type is total pervs who spend most of the week in sailor uniforms.”

Oh, you had plans for that sailor uniform. You stepped forward and planted a kiss on his cheek. “I think you just might be in luck.” He turned his head, just slightly, so he could capture your mouth with his. 

The kiss was sweet, at first. Slow brushes of his lips against yours. They tasted sweet, like he’d been wearing lip smackers or something. Or maybe he’d been sneaking samples of the ice cream. He pulled you closer and you gasped, offering him the perfect opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth. You moaned softly at the feeling of your tongue licking against his. 

He picked you up easily, sitting you down on the table he should’ve been cleaning. Your legs wrapped around his waist, your arms around his neck. It was easy to lose yourself in the hungry, desperate way Steve kissed. You could’ve stayed right there in the middle of Scoops making out with him until the mall opened in the morning, and still not have found the motivation to stop. 

A bright light startled you back into reality, shining directly in your faces. You and Steve squinted in the general direction, as Starcourt security stomped your way. 

“Hey! Get the fuck home,” He shouted, with equal amounts of exasperation and annoyance. He clicked off the flashlight and walked away with a huff and an eye roll, leaving you and Steve alone.

Steve’s cheeks were flushed pink with embarrassment as he stepped back, but he still wore a dopey grin on his lips. You hopped off the table and adjusted your skirt with a light laugh. 

“That was nice,” You said as you tucked a loose curl behind your ear. “I should leave you to it, I guess. Before we both end up in mall jail.” 

He shook his head quickly. “No! I mean, you could hang out here until I’m done. I just have a few more tables to clean and chairs to stack, if you want to—” He trailed off, looking at you expectantly. 

A sly grin spread across your features. “What? Are you trying to go home with me or something?” He stammered nervously, that same, cute blush growing on his cheeks. Before he could say anything, you took a step closer and peered up at him. “Because if you are, I might tell you that my roommate works nights at Hawkins General, and we’d have it conveniently all to ourselves.”

He swallowed, then nodded. “Yeah, that’s what I’m trying to do.”

You sat in the booth nearest to the entrance of the parlor, flipping through a magazine you’d grabbed from work. Occasionally, you’d sneak tiny peeks of Steve bent over a table to wipe it down, uniform stretched tight over his ass, and grin behind the pages. 

He got everything locked up in what he claimed was record time, flashing a smile as he closed up shop behind the two of you.

”Do you work tomorrow?” You asked, as casually as possible as the two of you approached your cars in the employee lot. 

“Yep. Afternoon shift,” he explained.

“I’ll drive you. We’ll carpool tonight.”

The car ride was relatively tame, a few stolen glances at stoplights at most. When you brought him inside the house, your phone was ringing off the hook. You apologized and ushered him into your room, where, true enough, the spare phone you used for the hotline was ringing nonstop. 

“Sorry, let me just…” You grabbed the phone and hung it up once, before taking it off the receiver completely. “There. No interruptions.”

Steve grinned, surveying your room carefully. The set of pom-poms from high school on a shelf, a stack of Cosmopolitan magazines, the chair full of your laundry— fuck, you should’ve definitely taken a moment to speed clean before letting him inside. 

“So… what do you say we pick up where we left off?” You stood on your tiptoes and pecked his lips chastely before guiding him towards your bed. As soon as he sat down, you wasted no time in crawling into his lap and kissing him with all of the pent-up frustration of weeks of phone calls. 

You kissed him for so long you’d have to come up panting for air, before diving right back in. His hands— Jesus, you’d never noticed how big his hands were— were splayed out over your hips at first, but had moved down to grab your ass, encouraging each movement as you rocked against him. 

Without breaking the kiss, you shrugged off your work vest, so it fell into a heap over the side of your bed. He pulled back, chest heaving slightly as he caught his breath. His lips were swollen from use and spit-slick. His eyes moved from the vest on the ground, then back to your eyes. A tiny laugh escaped you before you pulled off your top, then your bra. 

“This still okay?” You asked, as you stood briefly and tugged down your denim skirt. The sound of your voice felt almost foreign in the quiet room, while he took in the sight of you in nothing but a pair of panties.

“God, more than okay,” he assured, before pulling you onto his lap for another heated kiss. This kiss was needier— you could feel it in the hungry way he licked into your mouth, and the feel of him hard beneath you. Tiny gasps pushed past your lips as you rocked against him just right. 

He moved his hands from you only to pull off his work shirt, and the white shirt he wore beneath it. Your hands immediately went to his chest, running through the chest hair he’d hidden beneath the uniform. How the fuck did he manage to walk out of his house without being immediately pounced on by every woman in a five-mile radius?

 He placed one final kiss on your lips before pulling back and meeting your gaze. As earnestly as you’d ever, he asked, “Can I go down on you?”

Yes. Fuck, yes. Oh my god, yes. “Sure, if you want to.”

He smiled wide. “Yeah? Just relax for me, alright?” He shifted the two of you, so you were lying on the bed and he was on top of you. He planted a chaste peck on your nose, and you wrinkled it in reaction. 

You kissed him one, fleetingly, before letting him kiss down your chest and tummy. He parted your thighs and carefully positioned himself between them. You met his gaze and felt your stomach somersault. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to the damp fabric of your panties.,

“Fuck,” he mumbled against you. “You’re soaking for me, huh?” And there was that cocky grin you’d seen at the mall before. You had to lie back and put a hand over your eyes, because if you thought about that fucking smug expression for too long, you’d cum untouched. 

He ran his tongue over the fabric of your panties, tasting you through the saturated satin once, twice before he pulled them down your legs. And he fucking moaned like a man starved at the sight of you. 

Heat burned in your cheeks as you felt him spreading you open, and at the slick, wet sounds of your own arousal. “You’re so pretty.” And then his tongue was on you, lapping up your juices, savoring all of you. 

“O-oh, fuck—“ Your moan came out like a sob as his nose brushed against your clit, making your thighs tremble. He moaned against your cunt, nuzzling deeper like he couldn’t get enough. 

In retrospect, he had brought up how much he loved eating pussy a lot on that first call. Your hips bucked slightly, torn between chasing the feeling and overstimulation. His lips would wrap around your clit and suck softly before he would go back to lapping at you, his tongue parting your folds and teasing your entrance. 

“St-Steve!” You cried out, fingers tangling in his hair. The slightest tug on his locks made him moan against you, which made your toes curl. 

Your moans became pitchy and breathless as he brought you closer and closer to the edge. All of your muscles were wound up tight, itching for release. 

All it took was a little bit of eye contact and you were done for. You sobbed out a moan as he lapped up your release— each lap of his tongue sending electricity up your nerves. When he finally relented, you were shaking with aftershocks and giggling. 

“Something funny?” He asked with a grin as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

You sighed and spared a glance over at him. “I’ve been dreaming of that happening since our first call.” He grinned as you pushed him onto his back and straddled his hips. 

“Did it meet your expectations?” He asked, swallowing nervously as you shifted to accommodate your hand between the two of you. His eyes fluttered shut as your hand slipped beneath his work shorts and boxers to grasp his cock in your hand. 

You gave a slow, experimental stroke of your hand and nodded. “Two thumbs up.”

He swallowed hard as you removed your hand to completely undress him, leaving you both completely naked. You spit into your hand and wrapped it back around his length, holding eye contact as you jerked him off.

There was something so surreal about the entire situation— having him beneath you, warm and pulsing and slick in your hand. Each time your thumb brushed along the head of his cock, he cried out with the prettiest moan.

“W-wait—“ he said quickly, a look of panic in his eyes. You stilled your hand as he looked at you, a pretty blush painting his cheeks. “I’m not gonna last.”

You bit your to keep from grinning like an idiot. “That’s okay,” you said with a smile. You reached into your bedside table and retrieved a condom. “Do you want to, uh, go all the way?” 

He nodded quickly. “Yes. Yes, please.”

You tore open the packet and rolled the condom on. “How’s that feel? Alright?” He gave a dorky thumbs up, which made you laugh. You leaned down to kiss him once more and wondered if you’d ever get tired of that feeling. 

You reached between the two of you and guided his tip through your folds, coating it in your arousal until you grew too needy and lined him up with your entrance. It was a stretch, even though he’d gotten you plenty worked up with his mouth. You sank down slowly, one hand splayed against his chest to keep you steady as you took in inch after inch. 

The sounds that escaped him as you lowered yourself onto him were so pornographic you thought he should be the one working the hotline instead. Desperate panting moans slipped past his full lips as his hands clawed at your hips.

“Fuck,” he moaned, eyes half-lidded as he watched you. “That’s it. You can take it.”

The mouth on him. You moaned softly as you finally settled onto his lap and he was fully sheathed within you. You stayed still, letting your body adjust to and relish in how full you felt. 

“You look so pretty right now,” he said, reaching up to brush a messy hair from your face. You laughed softly as your cheeks warmed, and a funny fluttering in your chest nearly stole your breath.

“Says you,” was all you could manage to say back. You were hyper-aware of the feeling of him within you, of each flutter of your walls around him.

You gave an experimental roll of your hips and his head fell back, against the pillows, exposing the column of his throat. You relished in the way he looked beneath you— debauched and needy. 

It was easy and slow at first. Each time you moved, you would lower yourself back down slowly, letting him savor the feeling of you, warm and wet and needy. He groaned each time you settled back on his lap, eyes hooded with lust as he looked up at you.

You gave a lazy smile as you looked down at him, moaning each time his cock brushed against your sweet spot. “Can I go a little faster?”

He nodded, eager for whatever you could give him. Your nails raked against his chest as you began to ride him in earnest, the back of your thighs slapping against his as you bounced on his cock. 

Your head fell back as you rubbed at your clit with your free hand. Soft moans spilled from your lips as you relished in the culmination of all of your fantasies. Because he was there, splayed out beneath you like a fucking pornstar, and you had him all to yourself. 

His fingers dug into the plush of your hips as he began meeting your thrusts halfway, fucking into the heaven between your thighs. 

Your eyes rolled back as he fucked himself deeper and deeper, stealing your breath with each thrust. “Close,” you practically squeaked out. Red marks stood out against the freckles skin of his chest where you searched desperately for purchase. 

Steve’s hair was stuck to his forehead, tacky from exertion. “Need you to cum for me,” he managed between pretty moans. “Wanna feel you cumming around me.”

You whimpered at his words, riding him harder as your orgasm hit like a tidal wave. A fucked-out moan escaped you as you collapsed against his chest, hips weakly stuttering as Steve continued fucking up into you. With your pussy gripping him like a vise, he could only manage a few good thrusts before he came with a groan. 

You laid there on top of him as you caught your breath, wearing a stupid, giddy smile as he traced mindless shapes onto your back. His face was buried in your neck, where he left sweet, wet kisses. After a while, you slid off of him and sighed, missing the way it felt when he was still buried inside of you. You did your best to clean yourself off with the towel hanging from your bedpost as Steve tied off the condom and tossed it in the bin. 

“We’re not just…” Steve began once you were both comfortable in your bed. He let the words linger for a moment before he shook his head. “Never mind.”

You turned on your side to face him, adjusting your blankets for a bit of modesty. “We’re not just fucking? That’s what you’re asking, right?” He nodded quietly. “It was nice, but no, that’s not all I want.”

He grinned. “Yeah? You wanna be my girlfriend? I totally pulled a cougar.” His stupid grin made you roll your eyes, but you couldn’t keep a matching smile off of yours. 

“You’re so annoying,” you said, not giving him a second to react before your lips were on his again. You pulled back and placed a chaste kiss on his lips. 

In the morning, you woke up in his arms as sunlight crept through the window. You squinted at the sun, then back at him. “Still want me to drive you to work?”

“No way,” he said, muffled against the column of your throat. Soft kisses peppered against your skin, making you giggle and arch into him. “I’m calling in.”

[jakevwebber]

1. fuck donald trump

2. fuck ICE

3. fuck everyone who voted donald trump even though they probably can’t read this! 🤍

[jakevwebber]

nsfw alphabet - arthur frederick

masterlist | main masterlist

a = aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

arthur is the king of aftercare. he’s soft, attentive, a little doting. kisses your forehead, runs his hands gently up and down your back, whispers little “you good, love?” checks. makes you drink water. if it was intense? he’s tucking you in and spooning you like you’re breakable.

b = body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

he likes your thighs. loves when they wrap around him, especially when they tense up while you’re close. he’ll grip them, kiss them, lie between them like it’s his favorite place on earth. on himself, it’s his hands. he knows what they do to you. he catches the way you stare when he flexes his fingers or works with them, and he uses that to his full advantage.

c = cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

arthur’s not big on mess. he likes things contained, clean. cumming inside is his favorite—whether it’s in a condom or you’re on birth control, he just loves the intimacy of it.

d = dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

he’s fantasized about sharing you in a threesome - with one of his friends. it’s not something he talks about (because god, imagine the teasing), but the idea of watching someone else touch you while he calls the shots? it lives in his head rent-free. the control, the jealousy, the idea that you’d still be his at the end of it? it ruins him in the best way. he’s never brought it up, but if you did? he’d act shocked… then ask how serious you were.

e = experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

he’s experienced enough to know what he’s doing, but not cocky. he listens to your body, learns your rhythms. if you tell him what you like, he stores it like gospel. bonus: he’s got a natural rhythm and is stupidly good with his mouth.

f = favorite position (this goes without saying)

missionary, but intimate - your legs around his waist, foreheads touching, his name falling from your lips. but he also loves when you’re on top. watching you, hands gripping your hips like he’s scared to wake up from a dream.

g = goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

he’s mostly serious, especially when he’s focused on you—but every now and then, he’ll crack a grin, kiss your nose mid-thrust, or tease you with a cheeky, “you like that, huh?” he keeps it light, but when it counts, he locks in.

h = hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

trims regularly. neat but not bare. keeps it natural but clean. carpet does match the drapes - warm, soft, a little scruffy.

i = intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

arthur is intimate to the core. he loves eye contact, loves hearing how much you want him. he’s the type to press his forehead to yours and whisper, “i love you,” just as you fall apart under him. he means every word.

j = jack off (masturbation headcanon)

he’s definitely done it thinking about you. especially before you got together. now? not as often - he prefers the real thing, but if he’s away from you, he’ll do it with his phone in hand, moaning your name into the pillow.

k = kink (one or more of their kinks)

praise kink, 1000%. he lives to hear you whimper “you’re so good, arthur.” also big on light dom/sub dynamics. he doesn’t need ropes or titles—he just loves taking control and making you feel small and safe under him.

l = location (favorite places to do the do)

loves the bedroom for slow, drawn-out sessions, but he’s got a thing for risky spots: at the podcast office after filming, the car, a quiet room at a house party.

m = motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

your voice. your thighs. you in his clothes. you biting your lip when you look at him. sometimes you don’t even need to touch him - just look at him a certain way and he’s already half-hard, clearing his throat and shifting in his seat.

n = no (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

he’s not into anything degrading or mean-spirited. he won’t slap, spit, or call you names - even in roleplay. he’s all about comfort and connection.

o = oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

giving: he could live between your legs. he eats you out like it’s a full-course meal. loves to have you tugging his hair and grinding on his face. receiving: also loves it, but gets flustered every time. he’ll try to keep eye contact but ends up moaning and gripping the sheets.

p = pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

can go slow and sensual or deep and desperate depending on the mood. if he’s been holding back all day? it’s rough, breathy, possessive. if he’s had a soft day with you? it’s tender and unhurried, all whispers and eye contact.

q = quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

into it if it’s a rare, spontaneous moment. not his favorite, but if you climb into his lap and whisper something filthy in his ear? he’s pulling your knickers aside and making it work.

r = risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

he’s open to exploring, especially if you initiate it. not reckless, but curious. new positions? yes. toys? sure. semi-public where there’s a chance someone could hear? gets him going more than he’ll admit.

s = stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

can go for multiple rounds on a good day. he’ll start soft, build up slow, and keep you going until you’re wrecked and blinking up at him like you forgot how to speak. he loves edging - making it last as long as possible.

t = toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

he doesnt own a a huge collection, but down to use them on you. loves a good bullet vibe while he’s inside you. seeing you fall apart from dual stimulation? it changes him.

u = unfair (how much they like to tease)

he teases you in that soft-spoken, “you can’t handle me right now” kind of way. leaves you whimpering before he even touches you properly. whispers filth in your ear while pretending to be innocent.

v = volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

high, whiney and breathy moans right by your ear is his kind of style. he says your name like it’s the only word he knows. when he’s close, he swears under his breath and holds you tight like you’re slipping away.

w = wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

he adores when you wear his hoodie with nothing underneath. every time he sees it, he stops what he’s doing, walks over, lifts it up and says, “really?” with a smirk—and suddenly the hoodie’s on the floor.

x = x-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

he’s packing—nothing outrageous, but thick and satisfying. fits just right. veiny, curved slightly up. the kind you feel for hours after and daydream about constantly.

y = yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

he has a high sex drive, but he's not pushy. he’s always down, but respectful. he’ll initiate often with soft kisses, hands under your shirt, slow build-up. but if you say “now?”- he’s already lifting you.

z = zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

doesn’t fall asleep instantly. he holds you close, talks softly, maybe kisses your shoulder or runs his fingers down your spine. waits for you to fall asleep before he does. (unless he’s truly exhausted, in which case he’s out cold and snoring in ten.)

[jakevwebber]

𝙶𝙾𝙻𝙳𝙴𝙽 𝙱𝙾𝚈, 𝙾𝙽 𝙷𝙸𝚂 𝙺𝙽𝙴𝙴𝚂 | 𝚂𝚃𝙴𝚅𝙴 𝙷𝙰𝚁𝚁𝙸𝙽𝙶𝚃𝙾𝙽

Pairings: Steve Harrington x gf!Reader

Word Count: 4, 367 words

Summary: Everyone thinks Steve’s the one in charge, all charm and confidence. But behind closed doors, it’s her he’s on his knees for. And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Contains: 18+ only! MDNI! dom!fem reader / sub!Steve, public/private power switch, heavy teasing soft dom behavior (praise, aftercare, gentle control) whiny!Steve, begging, overstimulation (in later parts). (Let me know what I missed.)

A/N: I did not know how to properly end it so, there you go, he just dozed off, lmao.

masterlist |

There were exactly three things people knew about your relationship with Steve Harrington:

He adored you. He took care of everything. He always, always had a hand on you.

Whether it was draped over your shoulders at the coffee shop, resting warm on your thigh during drives, or hooked around your waist as you leaned into him at parties, Steve made it abundantly clear: you were his. And he liked the whole damn world knowing it.

“You cold, baby?” he asked, pulling off his varsity-style jacket before you could even answer, draping it over your shoulders like it was instinct.

You blinked up at him with wide, grateful eyes. “Thanks, Stevie.”

He smirked, the smug little flicker of pride shining bright across his face as he kissed your forehead. “My girl doesn’t shiver on my watch.”

You both stood in line at the food truck outside the skating rink, stars overhead, music drifting faintly from nearby speakers. He looked like a golden boy straight out of a teen movie, all fluffy hair and tight jeans and protectiveness, and you? You looked like a damn dream in his jacket, your lips glossy and your fingers laced through his like they belonged there.

“I can order, babe,” you offered gently, reaching into your purse.

Steve just laughed. “You think I’m letting you pay for your own fries?” His nose scrunched in that way that made your heart do a cartwheel. “What kind of boyfriend would I be?”

You pouted playfully. “A modern one?”

“Nope.” He stepped closer, nosing at your cheek. “I’m a classic.”

He ordered for both of you, shot you a wink when he added your favorite drink without asking, and even made sure they salted the fries the way you liked. Prince Charming, all smirks and ease, tossing out confident nods and soft touches like it was second nature.

And you, all sunshine and 'thank you baby' and 'kiss on the cheek, played your part perfectly.

Because that was what everyone saw. Steve Harrington, confident and in charge. And you, his sweet, adoring girl who smiled pretty and let him dote on you.

But no one saw what happened when the door shut behind you at home.

Later that night, you were curled up on the couch in his lap, half a milkshake forgotten on the table, fries cold in the bag. Steve’s hand rubbed slow circles into your thigh, his face nuzzled against your neck.

“Can’t believe you wore that little skirt tonight,” he murmured, voice still low and cocky. “You trying to kill me or something?”

You hummed softly, fingers in his hair. “You liked it.”

“Liked it?” He groaned. “Almost had to drag you behind the truck."

Your fingers tugged, just slightly, at the back of his hair. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to signal something else.

He froze.

The shift was immediate.

You sat up slowly, slipping off his lap and smoothing your skirt with a quiet finality that made his chest rise a little faster.

You didn’t say a word.

Just looked at him.

And suddenly the cocky golden boy from earlier? Gone.

Steve sat straighter, like the air had shifted and he felt it deep in his spine. He followed you with his eyes like a dog waiting for a command. Breath catching. Hands twitching.

You tilted your head. “Something wrong, baby?”

His tongue darted out to wet his lips. “No, I just… you looked at me like...”

“Like what?”

He swallowed. “Like you want something.”

You let the silence hang there, watching the flush crawl up his neck.

And then, slow and deliberate, you slipped off your cardigan. Tossed it to the side. Walked toward the bedroom without looking back.

You didn’t need to.

You heard him follow.

Behind closed doors, Steve was yours.

Not the charming prince.

Not the confident caretaker.

Not the cool guy with all the right words.

Just Steve.

Whiny. Overheated. Desperate to please.

He was all breathy *“please”*s and soft moans when you pushed him down onto the bed and climbed into his lap, fingers curling into the hair at the nape of his neck.

“You take care of me all day,” you whispered, voice low and sugary against his jaw. “You spoil me, show me off, open all my doors like a gentleman…”

Steve exhaled shakily. “S’what you deserve.”

“And what do you deserve, sweetheart?”

He looked up at you with wide, begging eyes, chest heaving a little. “Whatever you give me.”

You smiled. Slow. Dangerous.

“You’re such a good boy for me, Stevie,” you said, kissing just beneath his ear. “So strong for everyone else. And so soft for me.”

A soft sound left his throat, something between a whimper and a sigh and his hands clenched in the sheets behind him like he didn’t trust himself to touch without permission.

“You want me to take care of you tonight?”

He nodded frantically. “Yes, yes, please.”

“Take off your shirt.”

It came off in a flash.

You trailed your fingers down his chest, watched the muscles twitch under your touch, relished the way his breath stuttered like every inch of skin you traced was lit up.

And when you kissed him, slow and deep and full of promise, he melted into it, arms loose at his sides, letting you guide everything.

You weren’t just his girl.

You were his anchor. His undoing. The only person who knew the exact sound he made when he begged softly into your mouth, the exact way his thighs trembled when you praised him, the exact look he got when he came apart from your hands and voice alone.

And then it all went downhill when he tried to take the lead.

His hands braced beside your head. His mouth hot on your neck. His tone all cocky smirks and low, gravelly confidence.

“I’m in charge tonight,” he muttered, voice tight with want as he nosed at your jawline. “Got you all worked up in that cute little outfit. You’re mine tonight, baby.”

You smiled, soft, syrupy, because he was trying so hard.

“Yeah?” you asked sweetly, batting your lashes.

Steve groaned, rolling his hips into yours. “Fuck yeah.”

And for about four minutes, it almost worked.

He kissed you hard. Pinned your wrists above your head. Told you, voice rough and shaky, “You gonna be good and let me take care of you tonight?”

You didn’t move.

Just tilted your chin slightly, eyes meeting his, all soft and knowing.

“I always let you take care of me, Stevie,” you said, breath brushing his lips. “But you forget something.”

He swallowed. “What?”

“You like it more when I’m the one in charge.”

His grip faltered.

You pulled one hand free easily and let your fingers trail slowly down the front of his chest. Down to his belt.

Steve’s breath hitched.

“You like pretending you’re in control,” you whispered. “But look at you.”

Your fingers toyed with his belt, not undoing it yet, just brushing the edge, barely teasing him. “You’re already getting hard and I haven’t even touched you.”

“I—” he faltered, and you watched the bravado crack.

The way he bit his lip.

The flush rising to his ears.

The telltale tremble in his fingers as he tried to keep his grip firm on your waist.

It only took one slow push, a gentle reversal of your positions, and he let you turn him, press him back against the bed instead.

And now?

Now Steve was breathless.

Whiny.

Back against the mattress with you kissing down his neck, slow and possessive.

“You gonna be a good boy and let me touch you?” you murmured into his throat.

He nodded, already pliant, already shaking.

“Yes,” he breathed. “Yes, fuck please, please touch me.”

You had him half-undressed before his head even cleared. Shirt gone, belt undone, breath ragged.

Steve Harrington, who looked like the guy everyone fell for, who everyone fell for, was clinging to you like he’d fall apart if you stopped touching him.

“Thought you were gonna take charge tonight?” you teased, lips brushing the edge of his jaw.

He whimpered, literally whimpered, and let his head fall back against the soft foam.

“Fuck, I tried,” he groaned. “I thought I could, I wanted to, but you... fuck, you always get me like this.”

Your hand trailed lower, palming him over his boxers, and he gasped, bucking into your touch.

“Like what, baby?” you asked sweetly. “On edge? Needy? Desperate for me to take over?”

He made a choked sound. “Yes, yes, that...exactly that.”

You stroked him through the fabric, slow and firm, watching the way his knees started to buckle.

“Poor thing,” you cooed. “Just wanted to be the big strong boyfriend. And now look at you.”

He was moaning into your mouth, trying to kiss you and breathe at the same time, hands fisting helplessly at your hips. You didn’t even bother guiding them anywhere he couldn’t focus long enough to grab you right, not like this.

“Please let me come,” he gasped, and you smiled.

“You’re already close?”

He nodded frantically, face pink and ruined. “Mhm, m’always close with yo. Just please, I’ll be so good.”

You pulled back just a little.

Met his eyes.

“Take your pants off.”

He obeyed instantly.

Not a trace of hesitation.

Just his flushed, wrecked body obeying with a whispered, “Yes, ma’am,” and a soft whimper when you told him to get on the bed and wait.

And he did. On his back, thighs spread, eyes blown wide and mouth open like he was starving for you.

Your good, golden boy.

You spent the next stretch of time dragging him through exactly what he thought he could handle earlier.

Telling him what to do.

Making him beg.

Letting him think he’d get to finish then pulling back, whispering all the filth you knew would make his thighs shake.

By the time you finally let him come, he was wrung out and babbling.

Head tipped back.

Voice broken.

Hands useless at his sides.

Just your boy, dripping sweat and praise, body trembling as you stroked him through the aftershocks, whispering, “That’s it, baby. You did so good for me. Such a good boy.”

Steve could barely breathe.

Could barely talk.

Only managed a slurred, “Tried so hard to be in charge,” before he melted under your hands again.

You kissed his temple. Let him press into your chest, all soft and pliant.

“I know,” you whispered. “But you’re better like this.”

He nodded, humming sleepily.

Too blissed out to argue.

And in the quiet afterward, when your fingers brushed through his damp hair and you whispered every sweet thing you could think of he swore he could fall in love with you all over again.

Even if you’d just completely ruined him.

Then Steve hadn’t moved for at least five minutes.

Flat on his back. Hair a mess. Skin flushed pink and damp all over. His hand was barely clinging to your wrist, like if he let go, he'd float away completely.

“You okay?” you whispered, lips brushing his temple.

He nodded slowly.

Then again, firmer.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good." He let out a tired, shaky breath. “You wrecked me.”

You smiled, kissed his cheek. “You loved it.”

“Mhm.” He let his head tip toward your shoulder, eyes fluttering shut again. “So good, baby."

Your fingers traced down his stomach. Light. Barely a brush.

Steve shuddered.

You felt his cock twitch, not hard again yet, but not exactly soft either.

He flinched and gasped softly. “Wait...what’re you doing?”

“I’m not finished,” you murmured against his throat. “Are you?”

Steve’s eyes flew open.

You didn’t wait for an answer. Just slid your fingers slowly, torturously, between his thighs. Right over the sensitive, spit-slick skin, teasing him back toward hardness.

His hips twitched violently.

He groaned, not quite a moan this time, more like a broken plea. “Oh my god...wait, wait, I just came, baby.”

You kissed down his jaw.

“You can take it.”

His voice cracked. “I can’t, fuck, it’s too much!”

Your hand wrapped around him.

Just once.

Just barely enough.

Steve screamed into your shoulder, hips jerking up, the kind of desperate movement that came from reflex, not thought. His thighs were trembling. His eyes wide and panicked but so wet, glassy and wrecked.

You slowed your touch immediately, whispering sweet nothings to calm him. “Shhh. I’ve got you."

Steve panted like he’d run a marathon.

His voice was ragged. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You smiled, kissing the sweat at his temple.

“No,” you said. “Just ruin you a little more.”

The next ten minutes were a blur of ragged breath and muffled moans. You took your time.

Stroking him back to hardness.

Letting him squirm and twitch and beg, voice cracking with every whisper of “please” and “I don’t know if I can” and “fuckfuckfuck, I’m gonna...”

You didn’t even have to say much.

Just looked down at him with that soft, steady gaze and let your fingers work slowly over his oversensitive cock, gentle and relentless.

Steve was gasping by the time he was close again.

He gripped the sheets like a lifeline, head tossing side to side. “Can’t, can’t,baby, please, I c-can’t!”

“You will,” you said, low and firm. “For me.”

His whole body arched when he came again.

It wasn’t clean or controlled! it was messy, whiny, broken. A sound clawed out of his throat like a sob, and his thighs shook so hard you thought he might actually fall apart.

And even then, you didn’t let go.

You kept going. Soft strokes. Bare pressure. Just enough to keep him whimpering.

Steve was babbling now.

“Please please please, ohmygod, baby, please..”

He was crying a little, not from pain, just from too much, from giving you everything he had.

From being so loved, so wanted, so completely undone by you that he didn’t know how to ask you to stop. Or if he even wanted you to.

You slowed, at last.

Held his face gently, kissing his forehead.

“You okay?” you whispered, thumb stroking his cheek.

Steve blinked up at you, dazed and teary and completely gone. He looked like he didn’t even remember his name. Only managed to say, soft as a breath:

“You’re gonna kill me. I’m serious.”

You grinned. “Still think you’re the dominant one, Harrington?”

He let out a weak, wrecked laugh. “Shut up.”

You kissed his swollen mouth and pulled the blanket over both of you.

Later, when you helped him into clean boxers and curled up around him, Steve let out a soft sigh.

“Y’know,” he said sleepily, “I had this whole plan earlier.”

“Oh?”

He nuzzled your collarbone.

“Yeah. I was gonna tie you up, make you beg.”

You stroked his hair gently. “And what happened?”

Steve groaned into your skin. “You happened. And now I can’t feel my legs.”

You laughed softly, pressing your lips to his curls.

He was quiet for a beat. Then, quietly, almost bashful:

“Can we do it again tomorrow?”

You smiled against his hair.

“Anything you want, pretty boy.”

And he fell asleep like that, smiling, safe, and completely yours.

[jakevwebber]

INTO YOU ── a.frederick ౨ৎ ⋆｡˚

summary : a handful of drinks and sexual tension leads to events in the back of a taxi and apartment bedrooms a/n : kinda thought my first smut on here would a george one ngl but it’s an arthur one // inspired by the song ‘into you’ by ariana grande content : extremely flirty friends to lovers ,, drinking&vaping ,, sexual content

─────── THE CLUB WAS hot and sweaty, an atmosphere that would usually make you uncomfortable, but you were multiple shots and drinks in to the point where nothing affected you anymore. Not the stuffy air around you, not the thin layer of perspiration glossing over your skin. However, you certainly wished that the piercing gaze of Arthur Frederick would stop affecting you.

You felt like you could barely breathe anyway with the amount of people surrounding you, but knowing that he was only a few metres away, staring you down, caused a rushing in your blood and a quickened heart rate.

You were drunkenly swaying along with Becky in the middle of the crowd, enjoying the night out with your group of friends. It wasn’t for a video or for any social media stunt, just a group of mid-20 people drinking till their hearts content just because they could.

“He’s starin’ at you!” Becky shouted down your ear over the loud music.

“I can feel it.” You replied, moving your hair over one shoulder to get some air to the back of your neck as you could feel your hair getting damp and sticking to your skin.

“Have you told him yet?” She asked, bringing her alcoholic drink can to the back of your neck to cool you down.

“Told him what?” You asked, continuing to move along with the music.

“That you want to rip off his clothes! I’ve seen the tiktok compilations: ‘reader and Arthur giving each other ‘I love you’ eyes for five fucking minutes’!” Becky exclaimed. “Also, you did tell me last time you were shit-faced, that you proper fancied him.”

“Yeah, I told you I thought he was fit, not that I wanted to shag him!” You blushed, not that she could tell because you were already flushed from the heat.

“Oh, it’s practically the same thing. Honestly girl, make your move! He’s practically salivating over you!” Becky encouraged, pulling her drink away from your neck, “Seriously! You look hot right now, that skirt makes your arse look huge and the shirt?! Tits for days, now go and snog him!”

“… Are you sure?” You bit your lip, looking over at the booth you and your friends had chosen to occupy, just to find Arthur already staring at you.

Becky gave you a deadpanned look and you laughed, nodding, “Okay! Okay!”

You turned to walk over and Becky gave your bottom an encouraging slap.

You smiled, approaching the table and slipping into the booth beside Arthur, “Hey!”

“Hey, you alright?” He asked, shuffling closer so you could hear him talk more.

“Yeah, it’s hot in there!” You placed your hand on his arm, leaning close to talk right down his ear. “What about you? You just sitting tonight?”

Arthur moved his arm so it fell around your waist, holding you close, “Well, I was going to but I was too busy getting your drinks for you!”

You laughed, taking a sip of the beverage you’d requested him to get you (you’d now forgotten what you asked of him).

“Do you want to go outside when I finish this?” You asked, one hand toying with the straw as the other trailed around the back of his neck and shoulder.

“Yeah, sure. To leave or just air?”

“Whatever you want.” You hummed, looking up at him through your eyelashes while sipping — a subconscious action that came across as seductive and sly.

He nodded, hand pushing the back of your shirt up so it rested on your bare skin, fingers slipping under the waistband of your skirt. You were practically cuddled together in the booth, you now leaning into his side, your leg hooked over his knee, but no matter how close you were, it just didn’t feel like enough.

You knew Becky was observing from the dance floor, and you were 99% sure that Bach and George had eyes on you from the bar area. The constant touching was dangerous and a slight giveaway to the feeling you both kept hidden so deeply within you, and were now coming out because you were both slightly intoxicated.

You continued to sip on your cocktail until the empty slurping noise echoed from the inside of the plastic.

“Ready to go?” Arthur asked, fingers dancing along your knee. “How much have you had to drink?”

“Enough.” You hiccuped, pursing your lips. “I’m not battered, and I don’t want to be.”

“Yeah,” He laughed, “Me too.”

You both scooted out of the booth, saying your goodbyes to your friend and you gave Becky the look — open mouth, eyes wide, silent scream — and she laughed, clapping for you.

You and Arthur walked hand in hand out of the club, you in front of him with him practically breathing down your neck, keeping you as close as possible as you navigated your way to the exit.

The wave of cold air was like a wake up call, and you were no longer bleary eyed. Goosebumps rose on your skin and you lifted a hand to pull up the neck-line of your tube top, and not realising Arthur’s cemented eyes on your chest as the cold perked your nipples.

With your back on the wall, you rummaged through your shoulder bag until your fingers wrapped around the flavoured nicotine stick hidden beneath your phone and makeup.

You took a drag, effortlessly inhaling and breathing out the lemon and lime flavoured air.

You offered it out to Arthur, “Do you want some?”

“Oh, no, I’m okay, thank you.” He held a hand up, shaking his head.

You nodded, smiling at him, “You look good tonight, really good.”

“Yeah?” He smirked, leaning his shoulder against the same wall your back was on.

“Yeah.” You mumbled reaching your free hand up to toy with his hair, running your hands through it. You took another drag of your vape and blew it sideways so that it wouldn’t go flush into his face.

“I like your skirt, it’s shiny.” Arthur stumbled over his words, struggling to find a compliment that wasn’t ‘You’re so hot, I’ve had a crush on you for over a year and I just want to kiss you right now’.

“It’s a bit itchy, I can’t wait to take it off.” Your hand slid down from the back of his head to his shoulder, you both standing practically chest to chest.

He cleared his throat and nodded, “Y-Yeah, I can imagine that’d be relieving.”

You noticed the subtle flickering of his eyes down to the lower half of your face in between blinks, before returning to your eyes but then failing to keep them off of the dark-red-stained lips. You were half expecting him to make a move, both of you subtly inching closer but neither of you yet brave enough to finish what you’d unknowingly started.

You smirked softly, raking your nails up and down his neck before moving to the back of it, fiddling with the hairs at his nape.

“Arthur?”

“Yes?”

“Were you playing chess in the club?”

He snorted and shrugged, “Potentially. I was just getting a bit bored without you.”

“Really? I couldn’t tell. Every time I saw you you were already looking at me.” You teased, biting your bottom lip.

“What can I say?” He chuckled slightly, getting dangerously close, “You’re my entertainment for the night.”

“So you were laughing at me?”

“What?!” He panicked, eyes widened, hands squeezing the fat of your hips, “No! No, never, just … admiring, I guess. Watching. Not in a weird way—“

“Arthur, stop talking.” You whispered, pressing your lips to his.

You didn’t know where this sudden surge of confidence came from, but you weren’t ashamed of it, especially not when he started kissing you back, hands moving to your lower back, pulling you closer. Perhaps the confidence came from the handful of drinks you’d consumed, or maybe it came from the conversation you wish would lessen and the touching you wish would ramp up.

Your shoulders pressed against the brick wall of the alley way, back arched off of it and towards him, like some sort of magnetic pull that kept your hips glued together.

The kiss quickened, becoming more desperate, more raw. The need intensified, your hands moving from the back of his neck to the front of his shirt, scrunching it in your fists as his hands slipped to squeeze at the flesh of your ass.

You panted against his lips, pulling off and blinking at him, admiring the way the pink and purple neon lights of the club sign illuminated his face in all the right ways — not that there was a wrong way, he was perfect.

His lips were now smeared with your red lipstick, and you didn’t doubt that your upper lip and chin were smudged with the stain too, not that you cared. Not that he cared either, in fact, it made him feel warmth in his lower stomach, seeing you look so messy, so vulnerable.

You tugged him closer, moulding your lips together again. You grabbed one of his hands, bringing it to your inner thigh, letting him know that this was okay, that you wanted his hands up your skirt, on your bare skin.

“Wait, wait.” He pulled off, looking at you with a mix of lust and adoration, “You deserve better than a quick fuck against a brick wall.”

You chuckled at his wording, biting your lip to suppress it, “Okay, gentleman.” You said teasingly, “My place or yours?”

“Mine.” He tucking your hair behind your ear.

Oh my God.

Was this really going to happen?

You’d wanted this for months now, not that you’d openly admit it to anybody except him, but it was true. You yearned for his touch, for his presence, for his heartbeat to echo down your ear. And now you were getting it, and your heart was racing at a million miles per hour from anticipation and adrenaline.

You both put a small amount of distance between each other as he pulled out his phone to call for an Uber. Once it was on its way, his hands were back on you, dragging up and down your sides, a soft smile consistent on his face.

“You’re looking very dazed, Mr Frederick.” You giggled, hands reaching his abs and tracing them over his shirt.

“You’re beautiful, that’s all. And I can’t wait to have you to myself.” He answered honestly.

You could’ve moaned just as the way he said that sentence, his voice low, raspy, in a tone that told you only you were meant to hear those words.

When the Uber pulled up, you both got into the back seat, and once Arthur had given the driver his address, his lips were back on yours and you were half-reclined, half-upright as he pressed you into the car door.

This kiss was so much messier than that previous ones. It was full of desperation and the knowledge that once you got to his place, his bedroom floor would be a mess of clothes and underwear.

This time, his hand did slip up the front of your skirt and your breath hitched against his lips, his fingers pressing against you over the thin material of your thong.

“Shit, Arthur.” You murmured, fingers clenching his shirt at the back of his shoulders.

“You okay?”

“So okay.”

─────── YOU FUMBLED AND stumbled into Arthur’s apartment, barely able to keep your hands off of each other, your arms locked tightly around his neck as his were around your waist, hooking your legs up and kicking doors closed with his feet. Your shoes and bag had been left in a heap on the floor in the living room. When you reached his bedroom he had you on his bed in the blink of an eye, pressing his body over yours.

Your ankles locked at his lower back, hips grinding up into his, making you both moan at the friction.

Arthur bunched your skirt up at the waist, hooking his fingers into the hem of your thong and tugging it down.

You could’ve sworn the temperature rose in the room, and electricity crackled between you as he looked down at you with lustful eyes.

Your hands shot to his shirt, tugging it up and he assisted with pulling it over his head. Both of you shifted so you were on your knees in front of each other, you bent forwards, hands on his hips as your lips left red stains on his abs.

Arthur hissed, resting a gentle hand on the back of your head as you made your way up his torso, sucking on his neck before kissing him roughly again.

You fell backwards, dragging him with you and letting his hand slip between your legs.

“Fuck.” You whined, allowing your knees to fall open so he had a better angle and more space to work with.

His fingers rubbed haphazardly over you before circling your clit with learned precision.

“Oh my God—“ You panted, eyes staring up at the ceiling as his lips dived towards your neck, kissing and sucking at the sensitive skin.

He worked two fingers into you and you moaned out, back arching up, your nipples brushing against his hard torso, causing a delicious friction that only added to the pleasure you felt.

His palm made contact with your clit again, wrist moving as he crooked his fingers inside of you, hitting that spongy spot that made you hiss out a low, “Shit!”

Arthur’s free hand pulled the top of your shirt down, baring your chest to him and his lips wrapped around the hardened peaks, tongue flicking over it with skill — almost like it was muscle memory for him.

Your walls clenched around his fingers, a signal of your impending orgasm, but you whimpered as he pulled them out, thumb replacing his palm on your bundle of nerves.

Your hands desperately tugged at his belt, undoing it and the sound of leather slithering out of belt loops filled the room before the metal clinked to the floor.

Arthur removed his thumb from between your legs and tugged your clothes off fully so that they weren’t just a bunched mess around your waist and stomach.

He wanted you bare, vulnerable. He wanted you to be unapologetically you in this moment of spontaneous intimacy.

He shuffled out of his jeans, taking his boxers down with him and you bit your bottom lip at the sight of him, hard and ready.

“I’m on the pill.” You whispered, watching as he reached for his bedside table — probably looking for a condom.

“Are you sure?” Arthur asked, voice husky.

You nodded, hands toying with the hair on the back of his head, “I want to feel you. Just you.”

He lined himself up with your entrance, his hand pumping himself a couple times before pushing forwards and sliding into your warmth.

“Fuckkk.” He groaned, burying his face in your neck as you cried out, eyebrows kissing. “You’re so wet.”

“You okay?” He questioned, coming out of your neck to look down at you.

“Yeah, fuck, Arthur—“ You whimpered, “Move, please, please move.”

“Alright darling.” He laughed like a cocky bastard.

He pulled out halfway before thrusting back in, your nails raking down his back, leaving scratch marks in their wake.

He repeated this, over and over and over again, occasionally hitting your g-spot. He purposefully missed it every now and then, only making the next contact even more intense. A white ring formed at the base of his dick, caused by the wetness that persistently seeped out of you.

His hands found yours on either side of your head, interlocking your fingers while he thrusted into you, now repeatedly hitting your g-spot. Your back arched up, face screwed up with intense pleasure as his lips found contact with your neck.

Once again, your walls tightened, suctioning him in deeper, and you could’ve sworn you heard him whimper into your skin.

“Oh my God— Arthur— I—“

“I know, baby, I know. Me too.” Arthur rasped, not slowing or picking his pace up, just keeping it steady and intimate.

The coil in your stomach tightened until it felt as compressed as possible, before unravelling, tipping you both over the edge at the same time.

The entire world stopped for a second as he spilled into you, body going lax on top of you and your limbs loosening from the previous tension. You laid there in silence, feeling him soften within you until he slowly pulled out, gazing at your face with raw emotion.

“I love you.” He suddenly blurted.

“What?” You panted, still trying to catch your breath as you met his eyes.

“I— I don’t care if it ruins the atmosphere here, but I needed you to know. Especially after that. I love you, reader. And not just because we had sex, but because you’re the most gorgeous, enticing, funny, caring girl I’ve ever met.”

Your eyes softened as he spilled his guts, tone filled with nothing but sincerity and honesty.

“Arthur…” You whispered, reaching up and cupping his face, “I love you too.”

“Y-You do?”

You laughed, nodding, “Yeah.”

“O-Oh.” He smiled, kissing your forehead, “Good, then. Can I be your boyfriend?”

“If you want that, yes.”

“Do you want that?”

“I’d be an idiot to say no.” You said, suppressing your intense grin by pursing your lips.

After your joint confession, Arthur helped you clean up, allowing you to go to the toilet while he ran the hot water, soaking a towel in it to clean you up.

“Thank you.” You muttered as he moved the cloth gently over your warm skin.

“Don’t mention it. This is the bare minimum.” He shrugged, checking the towel into the washing basket and then grabbing you one of his shirts to wear, which you did gladly while he put on some pyjama bottoms.

You lay with your head on his chest, legs tangled together and your fingers tracing his abs while he drew evasion shapes on your back.

This was your future now.

This was your constant.

[jakevwebber]

can anyone tag me in posts of fic recs for george clarke ,chris md, ab , both arthur’s and hamzah? or tag the accounts with fic recs below pls i feel like ive read all of them and need some new ones ty

[jakevwebber]

polaroid proof. mdni.

It was just after 7 PM when you quietly let yourself back into the flat.

You weren’t supposed to be home yet — your flight wasn’t due in until tomorrow morning — but you’d managed to catch an earlier one, practically buzzing with anticipation the entire journey. Two weeks on a girls’ trip was fun in theory, but after about five days of beach drinks and tanned flirtations from men you didn’t care about, the only thing you wanted was him.

Chris.

You’d handed him the envelope at Departures like it was nothing. No explanation, no warning — just a kiss to his cheek and a whispered, “Don’t open it until I’m gone.”

Chris had laughed, cocky and clueless, tucking it into his hoodie pocket while you wheeled your suitcase toward security.

But the second your back was turned, he’d opened it, of course.

And the second he saw the first polaroid — you kneeling on the bed in just his hoodie, nipples peeking from the hem, eyes half-lidded with your fingers in your panties — his blood roared.

His cock had gone from zero to fully, painfully hard in a heartbeat, straining against the fabric of his joggers while families walked past and a security announcement droned overhead.

By the time he reached the bottom of the stack — the one where you had his name written in red lipstick across your inner thigh, fingers spreading yourself open to show it off — he was already sweating. Breathing uneven. Palming himself through his joggers in the airport car park like a fucking deviant.

You’d ruined him.

And you knew it.

Because when he looked up, you were halfway through security already — giving him one last wink over your shoulder before disappearing behind the line.

He’d groaned aloud, dragging a hand over his face as the ache in his jeans pulsed harder.

You almost felt bad for leaving him like that — flushed and throbbing and achingly hard, with nothing but a stack of dirty polaroids and the echo of your smile to carry him through the next two weeks.

Almost.

but inside the polaroids? Ten of them. Glossy, handheld sins.

oen of you in his hoodie with nothing underneath. One of you in your red bikini, bottom tied so low your hipbones curved like an invitation. And one in particular — the last one — had his name written on your inner thigh in red lipstick, your fingers pulling the panties to the side so the letters peeked out between your folds.

You hadn’t sent him any follow-up texts about them. You wanted to let them speak for themselves.

Apparently, they had.

Because as you quietly pushed open the door to the flat, you didn’t hear the TV. No music. No kitchen sounds. Just a low, rhythmic creak. Slow. Tense. Almost.. wet?

Your brows lifted, heart leaping as you slid your shoes off and moved further down the hallway. The door to the bedroom was mostly shut, just a sliver left open — enough for light to spill out across the carpet. Enough to hear the soft, breathy groan of your boyfriend murmuring your name.

And when you looked through that sliver?

You nearly dropped your bag.

Chris was on the bed, back propped against the headboard, bare chest heaving, face flushed and eyes hooded with heat. His legs were spread wide — completely bare — with his boxers shoved down past his knees, exposing every inch of him.

In his right hand, he held your final polaroid.

And in the other?

His cock.

Thick and flushed, precum glistening at the tip, his fist pumping slow and tight from base to head. Every few strokes, he’d pause at the top, twisting his wrist and exhaling shakily before jerking harder — a desperate rhythm, like he’d been edging himself, drawing it out. You watched his thumb smear the moisture over the head as he moaned softly.

“Fuck…” he muttered under his breath, gaze locked on the photo. “God, baby… your mout.. wanna feel that tongue — ”

You clenched your thighs, a pulse of heat rushing straight to your core. The way he looked at your photo — reverent, almost pained — made you ache. He missed you. He needed you. And he was so beautifully messy like this, working himself to the thought of you with such focused hunger it nearly made you whimper.

You stayed quiet. Watching.

Chris tilted his head back against the headboard, lips parted as his strokes grew faster — messier now. His abs flexed, the sharp lines of his stomach glistening faintly in the lamplight. You could see the tension in his thighs, the way his hips bucked slightly up into his hand.

“Fucking hell,” he breathed, still staring at your photo. “If you were here right now... I’d spread your legs so wide, baby. I’d have your cunt dripping down my chin.”

He groaned — a real, broken sound — and dragged the photo along his chest as his hand tightened. His knuckles were white. His hips started to move with each pump now, his cock throbbing visibly in his grip.

“I’d fuck you so slow,” he panted, eyes fluttering shut. “Make you cry for it. Wanna feel you squeezing around me, whining like you do when I tease that little spot — ”

You bit your lip, nails digging into the doorframe.

Then — without thinking — a tiny gasp escaped your throat.

Chris’s eyes snapped open. His hand froze. The Polaroid fluttered to the sheets.

And his gaze found you in the doorway.

“Shit!” he blurted, jerking upright, grabbing the sheet like it could hide the obvious. “Babe — ?! What — what the fuck — you’re home?!”

You stepped into the room slowly, pulse racing, smile curling.

“Surprise.”

His cheeks burned crimson. He looked completely undone — flushed and hard and exposed, cock still slick and pulsing between his thighs, and your Polaroid lying next to it like a fallen weapon.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, dragging a hand through his hair. “I didn’t — fuck, I thought I had another night — ”

“You did,” you murmured, eyes dragging down his body. “I caught an earlier flight. Wanted to surprise you.”

He groaned, hand flying to his face. “Well, congrats. I’m fucking traumatized.”

You laughed softly and moved to the bed, kneeling between his legs, fingers dragging up his thighs.

“Traumatized?” you echoed, tilting your head. “You looked pretty into it.”

Chris looked up at you like he didn’t know whether to be mortified or turned on.

You leaned closer, lips brushing his ear. “Keep going.”

He blinked. “What?”

“Pick up where you left off,” you whispered. “I want to see how much you missed me.”

His jaw dropped slightly. Then his eyes darkened.

Slowly, Chris leaned back again. His hand curled back around himself — slow, tentative — watching you the entire time. His strokes resumed, a little more measured now, like he was trying to impress you.

“You want me to finish?” he asked, voice rough. “You want to watch me cum for you?”

You nodded. “Mhm.”

“Fuck.” His head fell back against the headboard. “This is so fucking hot.”

He started working himself faster now, hand slick and sure. His breathing grew heavier, rougher, each groan more desperate than the last.

“Did you think about me while you were gone?” he rasped. “Think about me touching you like this? Think about my mouth on your pussy while you’re lying in some hotel bed, legs open for no one but me — ”

You actually moaned at the thought.

And Chris shuddered.

“Baby — ” his voice broke. “I’m gonna fucking cum — ”

His hips lifted, back arched, and with a strangled gasp he came — thick ropes spilling across his stomach, his hand still stroking as he rode it out, a ruined, wrecked mess of sweat and relief.

You were on him in seconds.

Mouth on his, hands in his hair, your body sliding into his lap with heat burning between your thighs.

And the best part?

He was, somehow, already getting hard again.

[jakevwebber]

races - AB , alfie buttle

alfie always enjoyed staying at our place , only leaving to do shoots in london or go on small adventures with you .

you on the other hand enjoyed being with alfie ,obviously, but you liked shopping , being invited to events and seeing your friends .

last week alfie was invited to the horse races and he wasn’t too bothered about the races as he doesn’t understand the hype or how it works at all , so he wasn’t going to go but you had convinced it could be fun

acting posh and playing a fake rich couple facade for the day which made him change his mind

17th april , 9:23 am

my body was sweating , waking up from my sleep alfie already in the kitchen making breakfast i wandered over to the bathroom doing the normal routine for the mornings.

walking into the kitchen leaning against the counter and having a long body stretch

alfie turned to me smiling and asking me if i fancied scrambled eggs on toast , accepting the offer of course

we both sat down to eat food and played law and order in the tv so we weren’t sat in silence .

after finishing up our food i moved back into the bedroom going into the wardrobe to get out my two outfit choices for today and also laying out alfie’s suit so he wasn’t stressing me out asking where it was.

connecting my phone to alexa and my makeup layed out i began getting ready.

“where’s my suit i thought it was in the bathroom”

he walked into the bedroom and looked around then realised it was on the bed

“i think option two”

i raised an eyebrow through my vanity mirror

he pointed towards my outfits layed out. “ohhh , i haven’t even tried them yet wait till i have them on then help please “ smiling up at him

11:38 am

makeup is done hair is done now deciding on my outfit .

“your boobs are looking hot as hell in that”

“hmm idk tho i don’t want them out too much”

“well i would them to be out but that’s up to you baby”

“course you would”

i decided on outfit 2 , alfie wearing a light washed blue suit with a cream coloured tie slightly matching my dress.

before leaving i made sure to take a picture of me and alfie in the mirror his arm around my shoulder smiling toward my phone.

1:30pm

me and alfie arrived at the races finally and began walking hand in hand towards the bar meeting up with issac , arthur tv , liv , sabina , flo , chip and the others .

i walked over to the girls and alfie went up to chip and the rest catching up with one another.

once the races began me and alfie were sat next to each other sabina besides me and issac next to alfie.

alfie got his phone out and started making a tiktok of the two of us to post that he was actually at the races

“i really love you and just doing everything with you y’know”

smiling up at him kissing him “ i do too “

as the day went along me and alfie spent most of the day wandering around together speaking to different people and meeting the odd few fans asking for a picture with alfie

7:47pm

finally we got home legs aching and heads pounding

i went into our room immediately putting my hair up washing my makeup off and getting into my pjs snuggling up to alfie in bed chilling watching tv together .

drifting to sleep alfie pulled the covers over me kissing my forehead ,turning of the lights and falling to sleep himself

——————————————

this was super boring but i wanted to write about alfie really baddd

i’m going away for a couple days and i’ll have no internet so i will probably write something for when im back so request something so i have ideas i leave tomorrow!

i also have never been to the races or watch them so don’t judge if i got any info wrong thanks x

[jakevwebber]

Starving for you. MDNI

you had barely made it through the door of your shared flat before his lips were on yours — all heat and hunger, like he had been holding back for hours on end. george backed you against the wall with a grunt, hands already roaming — face, shoulders, hips. going lower.

The makeout started messy. all teeth and tongues and breathless gasps. his lips we're fighting against yours like he'd been starving for days, and you were the only thing that could satisfy him. his hands fumbled with your waist once again, gripping like he needed to memorize the shape of you, like the thought of letting you go didn't exist. his tongue slid against yours with wet, desperate rhythm, slick and hot, tasting every inch of your mouth as if trying to drink you in.

he groaned low into the kiss, the sound vibrating against your lips, like he couldn't stop it — like the feel of you set something primal off in him. his hips rocked forward without rhythm, grinding into you through layers of of denim and cotton, rough and needy, like his body was already on autopilot, seeking out friction with a kind of shameless hunger.

you tugged on his hoodie — not gently, but with a clenched fist and trembling fingers, dragging him closer like gravity had suddenly intensified between you. each blind step toward the couch was frantic and clumsy, but neither of you cared. you stumbled together, mouths still fused, teeth occasionally knocking, fingers slipping under clothes, craving more skin, more heat.

when you collapsed together in a tangle of limbs and sweat, he didn’t hesitate — settling his weight over you, his thigh slotting between yours like it belonged there. he rocked against you slow, deliberate, dragging the thick muscle of his leg against the clothed slick heat between your thighs, the pressure maddening. every movement made your breath hitch, and he felt it — groaned low in his throat like it spurred him on.

but then he stilled — just slightly — pulling back only far enough to rest his forehead against yours. his breath came in harsh, uneven bursts, lips parted like he’d just run a marathon, pupils blown wide and dark with want.

“i need to eat you out,” he rasped, voice wrecked with desperation. “let me. please. i've been thinking about it all fucking day. i’m going insane.”

you blinked up at him, dazed and throbbing, your whole body lit up and tense with want. his words didn’t feel rehearsed — they hit you raw, straight from his chest, hot and honest and filthy in that way only george could be.

“you’re begging?” you managed, your voice thinner than usual, but sharp with disbelief.

“yeah,” he said, instantly — not an ounce of shame in him. his eyes were wild, feverish. “i’d get on my knees and pray to your cunt if you asked me to. just say yes. please. i'll take such good care of you. let me take care of you.”

it struck you like a lightning bolt — obscene, reverent, hungry. your breath caught. the air was thick, electric between you, and your throat worked as you swallowed. you nodded — barely, shakily — but it was all he needed.

he moved like he’d been released from chains. dropped between your legs with a groan, like gravity yanked him down and he didn’t dare resist. his hands found your leggings and underwear and tore them down in one urgent, ungraceful pull, his fingers shaking slightly with how fast he needed you bare.

you lifted your hips for him, every nerve ending on fire, and when he looked up — paused for just a second — his face was stricken with awe. his eyes drank you in like you were something sacred, a living altar he’d dreamt of kneeling before. his mouth parted slightly, lips pink and damp, and he just looked, breath catching like the sight alone had knocked it from him.

“fuck...” he whispered, breath ghosting over your skin, voice already wrecked beyond repair. “you’re so wet already.” his nose brushed the inside of your thigh as he inhaled, slow and unashamed, like he was savoring it. “did i do that? hust from kissing you?”

you smirked, lips parting to deliver something cocky — a tease, something smug and sharp — but then his tongue met you.

one long, deliberate stroke from base to clit, and everything inside you snapped. yhe breath tore out of your lungs like a gut-punch.

he moaned — deep, guttural, like the taste of you was everything he’d been craving and didn’t dare believe he’d actually get. it vibrated through you, the sound of him already lost in it, like he’d just been handed divinity. and the way his mouth moved... it wasn’t tender. it wasn’t gentle. It was delirious. worship, yes — but the kind done on bloodied knees, desperate and filthy and raw.

your hands flew to his hair before you even realized, fingers tangling in the mess of it, gripping like you needed something to hold onto. you tugged, hard — and he groaned, loud against you, into you, the sound half-lust, half-gratitude. he liked it. fuck, he loved it.

then his tongue flattened against your clit and dragged — slow at first, letting you feel every velvet inch of it — before speeding up, circling, then flicking with maddening precision. his rhythm was erratic in the way only a man obsessed could manage — too hungry to be calculated, too skilled to be clumsy. your thighs started to tremble, and he didn’t let up for a second.

“fuck, george — ”

you gasped his name like it was the only thing keeping you grounded, your hips already twitching beneath him.

he hummed in response, mouth still sealed to you — like he could speak through vibration alone, and the message was clear: don’t stop, don’t think, just fall apart for me.

two fingers slipped between your folds, slick and hot, teasing your entrance. he didn’t rush — just pushed in with devastating ease, the stretch making your back arch instantly. you could feel the smirk in the way he moaned, deep in his throat, shameless.

your hips rolled against his face on instinct — seeking more pressure, more friction, more everythi —

and then he lost it.

something in him snapped — maybe it was the sound you made, or the way your hips rolled, just barely out of his reach — and suddenly his hands were gripping your thighs with bruising intensity, dragging you flush to his mouth with a growl that sent a bolt of heat through your spine.

“yeah,” he rasped, voice gravelled and soaked in lust. "ride my face. fuck yourself on me. please.

your hips jolted, instinctive and hungry. “you want that?”

he looked up at you, eyes blown wide, pupils eclipsing the color, lips shiny and slick with you. he looked unholy like that — ruined and reverent at the same time.

“i want you to fucking use me,” he said, without hesitation. “sit on my face if you want — i’ll take it. i need it.”

that was all the permission you needed. you grabbed a cushion, heart hammering, limbs shaky, and repositioned yourself, straddling his chest as he laid back eagerly, the heat in his gaze dragging over your body like a touch. you climbed over him, one leg at a time, until your thighs framed his face and his hands were back on your hips, urgent and trembling.

the second you sank down, he moaned — loud — and his tongue was right there, sliding up into you like it had missed you, like the few seconds without your heat had been too long to bear.

and this time, you were in control.

you rocked against him, slow at first, drawing tight little circles with your hips, feeling everything — the deliberate drag of his tongue, the way he licked like he was starving, the way every moan vibrated through his mouth into your cunt. ge let you ride him, no resistance — just open-mouthed devotion, his nose nudging your clit with every grind, his jaw tilting to meet your rhythm like it was sacred choreography.

“mmmf — fuck, that’s it,” he slurred beneath you, almost delirious. “ride me, baby. take what you need.”

you looked down, and the sight nearly undid you. he was a mess — flushed to his ears, eyes fluttering half-shut, mouth open and wet, tongue straining out for more like he couldn’t breathe without you. his cheeks were streaked with your slick, his hair wild from your fingers, and he looked like he loved it — like this was all he ever wanted.

you didn’t let up.

you rode him — harder, faster, grinding down with reckless abandon, chasing your own release, and he took it. hands digging into your hips, pulling you down with every roll, sucking and licking like he was getting high off the taste of you. the wet sounds were obscene, echoing off the walls, filthy and slick and so fucking hot.

your thighs started to shake, muscles twitching. you were panting, incoherent, nails dragging through his hair, clinging to him like he was the only solid thing left in the world.

“george — oh my — i’m gonna cum — ”

he moaned into you, loud and shameless, tongue flattening and flicking with purpose. his hands held you tighter, grounding you to his face as you shattered — hips stuttering, back arching, mouth falling open on a wordless cry.

and he didn’t stop.

he licked you through it, even as your legs trembled and your body tried to twist away. he held you down like he needed to feel every last pulse of it against his mouth, every quake of your thighs, every twitch of your overstimulated cunt.

“sensitive — fuck, george — ”

but he didn’t care.

he was so pussy-drunk, lost in it, moaning and humming with his eyes squeezed shut and his lips wrapped around your clit like he could live there.

“can’t stop,” he mumbled into you, voice low and hoarse. “not done. gimme another. wanna feel you shake again.”

you cried out, hips jerking, your whole body molten and overstimulated and soaked, but he kept going — tongue flicking, circling, lips sucking, nose pressed against you with such greedy focus that you couldn’t escape, even if you wanted to.

and then the second orgasm crashed into you — sharper, deeper — your vision blurred out in white static, your legs locked around his head, and you screamed, because it was too much and not enough and somehow perfect.

he groaned into you again, tongue relentless, lapping up every twitch, every drop, like he was starving for it. like he could keep doing this until you were ruined entirely.

and maybe he would have.

but eventually you collapsed to the side, boneless and gasping, your body too wrecked to keep going. he followed, lazy and content, chin glistening, lips red and swollen, eyes hazy with satisfaction.

you looked at him, your breath shaky, everything trembling, and whispered, “You good?”

he grinned, soft and ruined, and leaned in to kiss your thigh, slow and reverent.

“i’ve never been better.”

eventually, he peeled himself off the couch, muscles trembling slightly, face still slick and flushed with satisfaction. but instead of fully retreating, he shifted — crawling lazily toward you like a big, tired cat, and then collapsed again, this time with his head resting heavy on your thigh.

his cheek pressed into your skin, still warm and trembling beneath him, and he looked up at you — pupils still blown, hair a mess, lips swollen from everything he’d just done to you.

“can we go again?” he asked, voice low and hoarse, but somehow boyish too — as if he didn’t just worship your cunt like it was the only religion he believed in.

you blinked down at him, breath still uneven, your body barely pieced back together.

“oh my god, george.”

he grinned — lazy, unbothered, completely ruined and smug about it. one of his hands found your knee, fingertips dragging slow, absent minded circles against your skin.

“what?” he murmured, tilting his head just enough to press a kiss to your thigh, lips soft but still hungry. “uou taste too good. i wasn’t done. thought i could make you cum again. or five more times.”

you groaned, somewhere between flustered and turned on all over again.

his smile widened like he knew.

“say yes,” he whispered, eyes locked on yours. “i’ll be good. i'll be so good.”

you knew you were in for a long night.

[jakevwebber]

AHHHHHHHHH

[jakevwebber]

[jakevwebber]

i am on my knees

[jakevwebber]

[jakevwebber]

Pov: you're reading fanfiction and suddenly y/n starts to call him daddy

[jakevwebber]